Assassin's Creed: Chronos - Retribution
by T.M.Wolf
Summary: Catherine thought she would live happily ever after with her family now that the Clock was destroyed and Rodrigo no longer a threat, but the Borgia are more tenacious and cruel than she realized. Her fight isn't over, but the odds are stacked against her. In a city ruled by the iron fist of their enemies, Catherine must face not only face the Templars, but also herself. EzioxOC
1. Act I Aporia - The Beginning is the

**TMWolf:** _Yooooooooooooooooooooo! I'm kinda sorta back! At least for this min-sequel to Chronos, which focuses on the Brotherhood part of Catherine and Ezio's life. As I said before in Chronos, I didn't write this bit originally, because it didn't have anything to do with the story line of the prequel. It doesn't involve the Clock, so it made no sense to include it with Chronos. But apparently people wanted to read what the heck Catherine gets put through (oh, and Ezio, too hehe), so here it is! I finally got around to writing it, and with some luck, I'll finish it. Hopefully people will enjoy it as much as the prequel, although it won't be nearly as long, nor quite as... well science-fiction._

 _As I mentioned before, this story is... darker. Much darker. Particularly psychologically and will have some very mature themes in some chapters. Catherine is going to go through a pretty dark time, and ultimately so, too, will her husband, Ezio, and family. It's an important stepping stone for growth in their relationship and really puts things to the test for them. So. Y'know, expect more-so drama than a science-fiction/why-is-she-here plot line going on._

 _Oh, and if you haven't figured it out by now: **PLEASE, IF YOU HAVE NOT ALREADY, READ ASSASSIN'S CREED: CHRONOS. YOU NEED TO READ THIS BEFORE Retribution. OTHERWISE, WELL, YOU MIGHT BE LOST ON SOME STUFF THAT COMES OR OR ON WHO THE HELL CATHERINE IS AND WHY SHE'S MARRIED AND HAS A KID WITH EZIO.** _

_So, yeah. Click on my profile, and get on and read. It's only like 60+ chapters :'D You'll get done in no time, but you'll probably have time to catch up anyways since I don't have a set update schedule for this, but I am working on it._

 _Oh, so like with the first story, I'm going to try and work in actual, historical facts with the game that don't show or canonical things that don't come up in the games. I won't get everything, but we'll see what we can do. I might also tweak with the timeline since this is an_ official _AU now_ _, if only to suit my own ends, so don't freak out if something is drastically different or not xD And I do try to be as accurate as I can in my information, but if I'm off and I don't state it's on purpose, do let me know! :) Also, please inform me of any blaring errors you see, it's much appreciated (especially since I don't always catch them, my fingers don't always work right with my brain, and MS Word isn't perfect either)_.

 _Anyways: if you're a fan who already read Chronos then congratulations! You can start reading right now and follow Catherine and Ezio on one hell of an emotional ride as they deal with their newest enemy: Cesare Borgia!_

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 **Summary** : Catherine thought she and Ezio would live happily ever after with their growing family now that the Clock was destroyed and Rodrigo seemingly no longer a threat, but the Borgia are more tenacious and cruel than she realized. The fight for their life together isn't over, but the odds are stacked against her. In a city ruled by the iron fist of their enemies, Catherine must face not only face the threat of the Templars, but also herself. Rated T/M. EzioxOC

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 **Assassin's Creed: Chronos**

 _Retribution_

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 _Act I_

 _Aporia_

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 **01** – _The Beginning Is the End is the Beginning_

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 **January 1, 1500**

 **Monteriggioni, Italy**

Catherine regarded the woman across from her carefully, mulling over their conversation thus far. She was a redhead like herself, although her hair was tied back in a regal bun, whereas Catherine preferred hers pulled back with a ribbon in a loose ponytail. The woman wore equally regal attire, clad in extravagant dark purples and maroon-like reds accented with white and decorated in lighter designs fitting noble women. She held herself highly in her chair; back held straight and head tilted just slightly while a neutral smile remained etched on her features. To the inexperienced she seemed welcoming and innocent, but Catherine knew her very well. The woman before her was a tactician. Her mind worked quick in all things—even battle, be it with swords or with words as they did now. Although, Catherine supposed it wasn't fair to call their conversation a battle, yet she couldn't help thinking so.

Caterina Sforza was a woman to be reckoned with, after all—revered with both awe and fear.

But this was a discussion of an alliance; one that would prove fruitful for both their cities. Forli was a powerful location to have. Already they had proven stalwart against their enemies time and time again, and Caterina herself was part of that. Her keen mind gave her the knowledge to defend her home and people, and her indominable will gave her the strength to endure the chaos of it all. It had kept her strong against the Orsi brothers, that was for certain, and Catherine only lamented she had just barely missed seeing it when she returned so long ago. Still, she didn't fail to see it to fathom the depth of the noble woman's strength. Indeed, Caterina would make an invaluable ally—an _official_ one. Oh, she had been on the side of the Assassins before, but not formerly. More-so for debts owed and friendship. Now, though? Now she hoped to affirm it in the eyes of their enemies.

Caterina had not wasted time explaining her troubles: the papal armies were once against marching upon _Forli_. Despite all her fortitude, she did need help—specifically the mercenaries of _Monteriggioni._ Technically, the forces were under solely Mario's command, but it was unspoken that the city itself was truly owned and its warriors run by the other Auditore's—herself and her husband specifically. And with her husband and Mario away, that left her, the Lady Auditore, in charge. Catherine would have preferred Ezio to be here to discuss things together, but he was searching for the Vault to prevent Rodrigo from opening it and ending the man once and for all. She lamented it—not being able to be there with him even knowing he faced the Staff, another powerful Piece of Eden—but they had their reasons.

So here she was, sitting in the meeting room of the _Villa_ —formerly Mario's office—with Caterina sitting across from her, waiting for her to reply after making her case. She knew she had the right to make the choice, and Ezio and everyone else trusted her to make the right decision. It was a notion that left her honored and humbled, although she would still prefer them with her. However, Caterina had wished to speak alone, and Catherine had accepted, although she suspected it was a calculated measure—to ensure there would be less opinions to voice opposition. Not that the redhead believed the others would. Niccolo and Mario both introduced Forli as an ally, and Claudia regarded Caterina highly. Indeed, Catherine expected everyone would agree to it. She knew Ezio would think the same, too, and so the Lady Auditore shifted to sit up more properly, meeting Caterina's gaze.

"Forli has long been a strong ally of the Assassins. We owe you much for aiding us in the fight against the Templars all these years. It's only natural we help one another," she replied, nodding her head slightly. "Consider it done. We'll have to discuss the specifics with Commander Mario when he returns, but you will have _Monteriggioni_ at your back regardless. And, of course, should any of the Assassins… interests align, we'll always be willing to lend a hand.

She paused to fold her hands in her lap, "However, we will require something in return."

"Naturally," Caterina hummed, lip quirking upwards. "Our loyalty to you is guaranteed— _Forli_ has no love for the Pope or the Templars. Am I correct to presume you ask for transport and trade in return?"

"As we would give you in kind, although transport would be especially useful. However, I was thinking a bit more along the, well, political lines. Your prowess in such matters is all too obvious, and your marriages have granted you many connections—ones that could help the Assassins."

The noblewoman's brow raised slightly, "I see you have been keeping a close eye on the matters of _Italia_."

"Of course. We must considering our enemy is in control of the _papacy_. We can ill afford to not act on any powerful connections. Experience has shown the folly of ignoring such things," Catherine went on, recalling such times when not having allies in power to help soothe things over from their work. It certainly had made things difficult for Ezio in his trip to Spain until he gained some foothold there. And even in their work in places such as _Venezia_ proved how difficult things could be.

"I cannot deny the wisdom. Very well. I will use what influence I have to sway more nobles to your cause. Of course, I will use as much discretion as needed. I understand your need for secrecy. You have much to protect here, too."

"Which is why I'm happy to forge this alliance. _Forli_ and _Monteriggioni_ will make formidable allies. I don't doubt Ezio will be glad to have you at our side—officially now, anyways," the redhead smirked slightly, and Caterina chuckled in kind. Her posture relaxed some, her goal obtained. The safety of her people was a bit more secure now—as was the safety of her own family.

"I do not doubt it, either… do you know when he will return?" she inquired, to which Catherine sighed softly.

"He sent word he and the others arrived in _Roma_ nearly a week ago and had found their target, but Rodrigo is not so easily reached, even with Bartolomeo, Machiavelli, and Mario all providing distraction. I can only hope he return soon," she replied, leaving the unspoken hope for returning unharmed lingering. She knew he would be alright. He was strong, and with Altair's armor—finally liberated from the Sanctuary—made him stronger. He had good reason to return, too. He had a family here; a daughter who adored him, a wife who loved him, and a mother and sister who loved him just as much. He would return to them. Still, she couldn't help worrying—especially now that she could finally confirm news they had hoped a long time for. Instinctively, her hand touched at her belly, wondering how he might react—if he would be as elated as with Diana or not.

"You are with child. Your second?"

Catherine blinked, caught off guard, and looked to Caterina, whom smiled knowingly.

"I did the same when I was worried and pregnant. Does he know?"

"Not yet, no…. or, we had an idea before he left, which is partially why I'm here and not with him. But it's for certain now. My belly has started to swell a little, and I feel how I did with Diana, although this time we're hoping for a boy"

"Oh, I do not know; little girls always seem to be better. They tend to stay close to their mothers. Boys always like to run off and cause trouble," Caterina hummed playfully.

"Then perhaps I should have given Diana a boy's name—she's so rambunctious! God knows we barely got any peace after she learned how to walk, and once she could run we would be chasing her all over!" the redhead laughed, shaking her head. "I don't know how you've managed to have so many of your own—I could barely stand my first pregnancy."

"Ah, but is it not worth it when you can hold them in your arms and see them smile and hear them laugh?"

The Lady Auditore flashed a grin, "Of course it is. But the nine months before being swollen and big and round and having to sit around all day in a dress… sometimes I want to castrate that man. But… then I see how he is with Diana and how beautiful she is and how happy we are… and I can see why people have children. It's beautiful. A true miracle… and we were blessed with another one. I can't wait to tell Ezio the good news. We've been trying for another for a while."

"Trouble conceiving… or because of Diana?" the noblewoman inquired. In another time and place and perhaps another woman, Catherine might have found it a little inappropriate to ask, but here she felt comfortable. At ease. Oh, she'd spoken of it with Maria and Claudia before, but they were family. Here, she felt a kinship of sorts forming with the noblewoman. Someone who had faced as much hardship and yet remained strong and powerful. That, and if it helped their alliance than she was happy to speak of it.

"Both played part, I would say, among other things. I struggled to have our daughter before my return, though that was due to… other things," she replied, mentally glancing to the Clock in her pocket. It was as powerless as it had been since her return in _Forli_ years ago, and, truthfully, it was just a decoration as it didn't even tell time now, but she could not be rid of it. It was a reminder of her journey, and being that Caterina was told about it—hard to hide the truth when they had stayed in her home for some time and she could not be convinced her death was faked—she did not mind speaking of it. Caterina hummed in response, acknowledging her hidden meaning; of how the Clock had once robbed her of the gift of motherhood, but had also returned it.

"But after Diana… well, we became busy. Ezio left for Spain for some time, and then we wanted to give Diana as much attention as we could. With Savonarola we were in and out trying to catch him, and then once that was done, well… we were able to stay home, but Diana had learned how to walk and open doors. I don't know if you had to worry about it, but she made a habit of barging in at all the wrong times."

Caterina laughed, "Oh dear… yes, I do know your pain, although siblings work well to keep them busy. Diana sounds lovely, though. Quite the troublemaker… I take it she took after her mother."

"Actually, she's more like her father, in my opinion. She's quite the mischievous one despite only being seven. She loves to run around playing with toy swords, too—much to Claudia's dismay. I won't lie—Ezio and I encourage it some, as do her uncle and cousins. Luckily Lady Maria doesn't seem to mind."

"Sounds like you may have yet more warriors in your family then—perhaps even another Assassin?"

"A little too early for that, and, truthfully, we're hoping our work will make it so she won't need to even _consider_ taking up the blade in her lifetime… but we wouldn't discourage it if that were the life she wished. The same for if she chose to be a noblewoman like her aunt and grandmother. Now, if our second child is a boy, I can guarantee Ezio will, at the very least, demand our son learn the sword. I would have them both learn simply for protection, though," the redhead mused, gesturing with her hand. She paused to regard Caterina, waving her hand towards her as she spoke, "What of you, Lady Sforza? Do you expect to have anymore children, or was Ludovico to be your last?"

"He is Giovanni now, actually—named after his father. To answer your question, though: yes, he may very well be my last. I have no plans to take another husband any time soon; not with the chaos my people and land face. My focus must be on protecting them and ensuring the legacy of my children. Perhaps if we are successful then I may consider another marriage and another child, but not until then. I would gladly welcome more, but… no. Not at the moment."

"Ah… that's right. My apologies and condolences—I forgot about your husbands passing… you are truly a strong woman. I don't know what I'd do without Ezio," the redhead replied softly, her hand once again touching her belly.

"It is easier when love means little among nobles," Caterina replied just as softly, eyes falling some, but then meeting Catherine's. "Do not mistake me—I did love Giovanni. He gave me my youngest child, whom I cannot help but hold closest to my heart… but I would be lying if I did not envy the love you and Ezio hold. It is a precious thing; may you never lose it, and I pray you never forsake it."

Catherine's gaze was steady and her voice firm, "We would rather die than let that happen."

"Then my envy is even greater, and I wish you all the happiness in the world."

"Thank-you, Caterina. Truly,"

"And thank-you, for your part. With your help, I might yet protect my own from the wrath of the Borgia," the noblewoman frowned slightly, expression becoming sullen.

Catherine perked up, hand moving to the arms of her chair, "They've already attacked? We knew they were in the area, but thought they were just on the move…"

"No, they mean to take my home and have already begun to try. We have kept them at bay, but we will not win in the end—not without your help."

"I understand. I can speak with Ottavio and Claudia in place of Mario to see how many we can send with you and how soon. Of course, you will be welcome here until such time, otherwise we will get you secure and safe passage home with a smaller unit to begin with," the redhead replied, rubbing her chin as she thought on it, glancing at some papers on the desk that already had numbers.

"I fear I cannot stay away long, but a day or two will not be out of the question. I would rather speak with Lady Auditore and Captain Ottavio in person. If your Commander returns with Ezio, then even better, but… yes… two days will be all I can allot."

"Then so be it. We will prepare one of the spare bedrooms for you. As our guest—and now ally—you are welcome to our meetings. I expect, should you be here when Ezio returns, he will have news of Rodrigo Borgia and the Pieces of Eden. If that interests you…?"

"Indeed it will. I admit, after hearing your tale and the ruthlessness of the Orsi brothers' attack left quite the impression about these strange artifacts… and I would be glad to hear of the demise of a Borgia," the red-headed woman smiled, almost devilishly, and Catherine found herself sharing the sentiment.

"I don't blame you," she chuckled before standing. Caterina followed in suit as the Lady Auditore regarded her. "Well then, our alliance is set, and I belie—."

" _Mama!_ " a high-pitched voice shouted from the hallway, and not a second later, a young girl with hair like fire and dark eyes set upon lightly tanned skin decorated with an array of freckles came racing into the room. Even in her light-blue gown, she leaped just enough to wrap her arms around Catherine's waist, burying her head into her side and then gazing up at her with both wide, sparkling eyes, and an impish grin. "Papa is back! The soldiers saw him! He's back with Uncle Mario! He's coming now! We must go see him, Mama! We must! Pleeeease, let's go now! Come ooooon!"

Caterina laughed, "Rambunctious indeed… go, my Lady. We will speak more of things later."

"Thank-you," Catherine chuckled and then freed herself from her daughter's hold to take her hand in hers. "Yes, we can go see Papa, Diana. He's going to be so happy to see you—and to hear about our little surprise."

The young girl beamed, "I'm going to have a sister!"

"Or brother," the redhead grinned, but her daughter scrunched her nose.

"I want a sister."

"Well, we'll just have to wait and see, mm?" she cooed gently, squeezing the young girl's hand as they waltzed through the library, leaving Caterina to her own devices. "Did the men say how your Papa and Great Uncle Mario looked?"

"They're coming on horses, they said. Both of them on one each. Papa is fine then, right?" Diana asked, looking up at her mother. Despite her question, there was only hopefulness and eagerness in her eyes.

Catherine smiled, "I know it. Your Papa is very strong, and he has a good reason to come back safe. He would never let anything stop him from coming back to you and me—he promised, remember?"

"Yep! Said he would always come back. He loves us too much—especially me!" she grinned, the imp she was.

"Indeed he does, Diana. Because you're his precious little girl, just like you are mine. Our little blessing."

Diana giggled, "I know. And you're my Mama and Papa. Can we go see Papa at the entrance?"

"No, I think we should make him come to us—do a little work. You know how lazy he gets around here," Catherine grinned, much to her daughter's delight as she laughed.

"Papa says you lie about that, Mama! He says he is very busy here."

"Oh, I know. I just like to tease your Papa. Now, c'mere. We'll wait here and give him a pretty sight to see when he opens those doors," the redhead hummed as they came to the main lobby of the _Villa_ , right beneath the chandelier.

The building itself had remained mostly unchanged all these years beyond repairs and a few additions, but otherwise their home remained as stalwart as they had. The marble halls were the beautiful, pristine white they'd always been, and a plethora of masterpieces adorned the walls—some by their good friend Leonardo da Vinci himself. The artist had long since left for Rome, but he'd given them much to remember him by, and he wrote when he could. She missed him, though, and wished he could return for their daughter, too, whom had loved to learn from him. Until such time, though, they had his work to remember him by.

The bottom floors still hosted their armory and "trophies" of sorts, which they did their best to keep Diana from playing with—for safety reasons of course—but she was always eager to hear their stories and try on her father and mother's older armor pieces. Above were all the rooms and their gallery, and further up still was the master bedroom for the Lady and Lord of _Monteriggioni_. Plenty of other rooms were host to their family, and could thankfully hold more still for all their guests. Diana's room was right next to her Grandmother's and Claudia and Ottavio took up on the opposite wing. There was a room for their sons, but now that they had begun to fight as soldiers, they preferred the company of their fellow man. As such, there was ample room still, which worked well when diplomats such as Caterina or Niccolo arrived.

"Where is heeeeeeee?" Diana groaned, pulling at Catherine's pant leg. In a few months it would be a dress, but for now the Lady Auditore was relieved to be able to wear her favorite blue tunic and light-tan pants.

She chuckled, brushing a lock of hair back from her daughter's face, "Patience, my sweet one. I don't doubt your Aunt went to meet him first. She's out in the city at the moment, after all. That, and I'm sure she intends to remind him it's her birthday tomorrow. There's going to be a big party for the city."

"It'll be so much fun! But we should be out there to see Pap, too," the little girl huffed. Her mother only laughed lightly for a few moments before her focus went to the door. Despite not being a fully gifted Assassin such as her husband or Mario, her gut often got a good sense of things and right now it told her someone was approaching. She imagined Diana had a touch of the gift herself—she was already tensing with anticipation and practically dancing on her toes. It was still too early to tell, but either way, both knew their loved one was on his way.

Sure enough, there was a creak of the door handle being pulled, and in the setting sun's light, a familiar, dark-robed figure appeared. His hood was pulled back, making the familiar, strong-jawed and thick-bearded face all too easy to make out. A wide smile was upon his face as he saw them, and just as Diana let out a shriek of excitement he crouched down with arms open wide. The little redheaded girl happily leaped into them, and he lifted her up high with ease, spinning her around.

" _Papa!"_ she howled with delight, grasping onto his hood to pull him in close for a hug. He happily relented and then placed a kiss upon her brow.

"Diana!" Ezio cooed, holding her steadily in his arm before looking upon his wife, whom approached with a gentle smile on her face. His own smile softened as he reached for her extended hand and tugged her close for a quick, but still deep kiss. "Catherine, my love."

"Welcome home, Ezio. It's good to finally have you back," she replied, voice somewhat soft as she let him take in the hidden meaning.

His fingers squeezed hers, nodding, "It is good to _be_ back. I have much to tell, though—to everyone."

"I want to hear! I want to know how you stopped the Borgia and saved the day! I want to hear how you climbed and used your sword and all of it, Papa!" Diana grinned, impish as ever, and tugged on her father's hood. As he chuckled Catherine glanced down—right at the stain of blood she'd spotted earlier. She could tell he'd tried to clean it, but the fabric retained a darker patch. When she caught his eyes, she knew he knew she'd seen it, but they kept quiet, of course. They didn't dare let Diana know the dangers—not yet, anyways. If they could, they would keep her safe always, but they knew, deep down, the day would come when she wanted to know more—when she would make her choice. Until then, though; they would protect her. Even from the fear of her parents in danger.

"Later, little one. Your Mama and Papa have much to discuss with your Great Uncle Mario and Aunt and the others. I will tell you the story later, alright?" he chuckled. Diana, however, was very much so not alright and huffed and puffed some, so Catherine reached up and poked her cheek, earning a surprise gas.

"Mama, no! I wanna hear it _now_!"

"Later, Diana," the redhead hummed, her tone one even their daughter knew well to not deny now. The young girl lowered her gaze, crestfallen, as her mother brushed her cheek gently. "Diana, come now. You'll get a grand story tonight, and your Papa is home. No pouting. If it helps, I'll let you have an extra sweet tonight after supper."

The young girl's eyes lit up like the sun, "Okay! Papa, put me down! Hurry and go talk with Uncle Mario and Auntie and everyone! I wanna hear the story!"

"He's your _g_ _reat_ Uncle, Diana," Ezio chuckled as he lowered the child to the ground and she scurried towards the kitchen. The young man sighed as he shouted, "Only _one_ extra sweet for her, Annetta! Don't let her trick you!"

"Papaaaa!" Diana groaned, turning to glare at her father before slipping out of view. Catherine couldn't help laughing as she shook her head. Her grin remained as the hand still holding hers pulled her close to the firm chest she knew all too well, and even more familiar lips were on hers. It was much longer this time, and carried far more passion—the kind that sent tingles through her and wanting more and more, but forced to relent as he pulled back with an impish grin.

"I'm so relieved your back…. Safe?" Catherine asked softly, glancing down to his side.

He nodded, "Yes. I'm alright. Rodrigo got a lucky strike… but Altair's armor protected me. It was a shallow wound at best, and it's already healed. You need not worry, my love."

"Good… and now I have even _better_ news," she grinned back, taking his hand and placing it on her belly. His eyes widened, looking from her abdomen to her eyes.

"Truly?" he breathed, almost in disbelief.

Her grin grew wider as she nodded, "Yes—I'm with child again. We were right."

At once he had his arms around her, lifting her as he did Diana, and pulled her close, kissing her hard, and then pressing their brows together. She laughed all the while, bracing her hands upon his chest, and smiling with pure love and affection in return.

"Ah, Catherine, I can't even begin to express the happiness I feel. Another child!" he sighed, body relaxing some, but still keeping his wife close. He hummed thoughtfully after a moment, though, "Do you think it will be a boy?"

She laughed, "With some luck, yes! Your mother mentioned how she felt with you and your brothers, but I don't feel too much different yet, but then again it's been seven years since I was last pregnant."

"Son or daughter, either way, I'm a happy man," Ezio chuckled before stealing a quick kiss and then sighing. "Damn. I want nothing more than to celebrate, but the others must know about Rodrigo."

"Right… Is he?"

"It's… A lot happened—things _everyone_ needs to hear. Mario and Claudia should be gathering them into the study as we speak," he replied, and Catherine couldn't help the slight skip of her heartbeat. She had a feeling she knew what he meant, but she _did_ trust him. Whatever decision he had made, it was not done so without thought or care, and she also knew Pieces of Eden were involved. That by itself made things even more complicated. She couldn't help but wonder what he might have seen—something like her so long ago?

"Okay, let's go then," the redhead nodded, taking Ezio's hand in hers to squeeze it firmly, letting him know she was with him. He returned the gesture and they made through the near doorway into the lavish, red-walled room where the wooden desk Claudia had become so fond of still stood proudly. The woman in question was standing opposite to it, her mother right at her side. By the desk were Niccolo, Mario, and Caterina already speaking amongst themselves, though paused to regard the couple as they entered. The elder lady Auditore was quick to embrace her son, just as relieved as his other loved ones that he was alive and well. He and his sister had already met and so exchanged smiles as he passed and looked to their allies and Uncle. Catherine, of course, remained right at his side; ready to support him in any way.

"Machiavelli. It is done," he began, pausing as he reached the man and turned to look at them all, ending on his wife. "Though not, I think, as any of us expected. I entered _il Vaticano_ and faced Rodrigo. He used the power of the papal staff against me, but I defeated him. Combining the Staff and the Apple, I gained access to the Vault. There, a moving painting of the goddess Minerva spoke. She told of a terrible tragedy to befall mankind in the future, but gave hope of lost temples that will provide aid to humanity. And then she called to a phantom, Desmond, as if he were there, standing beside me. After her warning, she vanished."

"Amazing," Caterina breathed.

"I cannot imagine such wonders!" Claudia added, and it was a sentiment shared by them all—at least in some way. Save for one.

Catherine felt her gut twist at the recollection, noting how uncannily similar it was to her own meeting of a god—of Chronos. Though, this one had been a goddess and she was called Minerva. She knew the name—it was the name of the goddess the Greeks called Athena, if she remembered right. The goddess of wisdom—and of war. Except, Chronos had been not a god, but a man—a being from a time before her kind. People who had long since vanished, but left their heritage in the blood of their descendants. So was "Minerva" one of these, too? One of those who came before? The Isu? Why would she speak to Ezio, though? Was she in the Nexus? Could she see through time—to this future disaster? Did she have some machination for her husband? And if so, what? Did he face a fate like hers, filled with the same danger?

The notion struck both a fiery rage and an icy chill in her.

Machiavelli stepped forward, looking torn between relief and uncertainty of things, "The Vault did not house the terrible weapons we feared. This is good news!"

"Maybe," Catherine spoke up, wrapping her arms around her waist. "This Minerva… she was like Chronos, wasn't she? Based on how I described Him to you?"

"I… yes. She was. Like made of light. A ghost. She was tall, but beautiful, and wore strange garments. She appeared human, but she spoke in such a way I could not think her so. She, too, spoke of her race having been lost long ago—and the magic she performed… it was not physical as yours was, but it was magic still."

"She's… they called themselves the Isu, if I remember right. Chronos… Minerva… it seems they all have some plan for us—though… who is Desmond?"

"Indeed… and where are these temples Minerva spoke of?" Mario asked next, his mouth set into a slight, but thoughtful frown.

"I don't know," Ezio replied with but a shrug.

"Perhaps we must search for them," the Commander rumbled.

"Tell me how it ended with Borgia. Did Rodrigo beg for forgiveness? Make excuses? Promise power in return?" Machiavelli spoke up, an unusual eagerness to him. Although, Catherine supposed she couldn't blame him; he had worked longer than she or Ezio against the Templars, and had done it as a proper Assassin. Ending Rodrigo Borgia had been a gravely important goal for him.

Ezio shook his head, "No. None of those things."

The redhead glanced at Ezio, his demeanor and tone about it different. Or at the very least she felt something was off—he was hiding something. Something he'd left unsaid, but let others thing otherwise. She knew him well enough to know when he was doing it, and she found she didn't like it this time.

"Interesting," the Assassin hummed, turning away with his arms clasped behind his back. "I am surprised he remained so composed."

"I let him live."

Machiavelli shouted it for them all, "The Spaniard _lives_?!"

A touch of the finger could have broken the tension of the silence as the older noble turned to stare down Ezio, whom would not relent. He was firm in his choice—not that he could undo it. Yet, the uncertainty of the others was palpable. Even Catherine could not deny she felt a sense of what she supposed was dread in her stomach. Whatever it was, she couldn't help wishing her husband had made another choice.

"Once our enemies are dead we can speak of vaults and gods and ancient places. You should have killed him! We are sure to suffer for it," Machiaveli went on, face contorted with the rage burning inside. Catherine imagined others felt the same—and in some ways, so, too, did she. Still, her loyalty to Ezio kept her from holding on to the feeling long, or at least too strongly.

Ezio stepped forward as he replied, "I'm not here to debate the past. Together, we should discuss the future."

"No. I am leaving immediately for _Roma_ ," the man barked back, and, true to his word, he turned and left. The Lord Auditore's face remained as it was, but it was a blow still. Their ally had left them, and a trust had been broken, though perhaps not shattered. Catherine considered speaking with the man more, as they had a good rapport, but she let it be as Mario approached his nephew.

"Ezio. I do not why you spared him, but I trust your judgement. Machiavelli will come around," he explained, but the younger man did not look so convinced. Still, he remained stalwart in his decision. Despite her feeling, Catherine reached and slipped her hand within his, which he squeezed at once. The redhead regarded her family and Caterina.

"Ezio is right, though—the past is done, and we must focus on the future ahead. But, I think tonight it's best we sleep and leave time to think on things. Mario, Caterina, there is much for you to discuss already, though, I take it?" she spoke, glancing between the two. Both Lady and Commander nodded.

"We may speak now, if you wish," Mario stated, inclining his head politely.

"I would like that," Caterina smiled.

"And you, my son, need some proper rest," Maria suddenly hummed, coming closer to touch her son's arm gently. "Take heart, Ezio. Not every choice you make will be agreed by all, but you must stand firmly behind it. A man without conviction is a man no one will follow."

"Thank-you, Mother, although… might I ask a favor?" he replied, grinning almost impishly.

"Goodness, he wants you to babysit his wild child already," Claudia guffawed, rolled her eyes.

"Just as I did for _both_ of yours," her mother mused coyly, raising a brow. The young woman huffed some, but then smiled as she looked to her brother.

"Mother is right—in both respects… and I trust your decision, Ezio. As I always have. I know you did what you felt was right, even if I, too, would rather know he was dead."

"Thank-you, Claudia. It is good to see you both again, and I look forward to celebrating your birthday tomorrow," the young man smiled, demeanor, at long last, relaxing. He turned to his wife then, who gave him a smile, too. "Come, we have a least an hour to ourselves."

"I will make it two," his mother quipped, lip quirked upwards.

"Our thanks," Catherine laughed before moving onwards, tugging her husband along with her. He followed without hesitation, remaining quiet as they made their way into the entryway. From there they slipped up the stairs to the hallway leading to the ladder to their quarters, all the while still quiet. For the redhead, the weight of things hung heavily on her mind, and her heart was torn. She imagined Ezio knew this, sensing his eyes on her, no doubt waiting for some comment on what had been said. She was not yet ready, though, and so only put on a smile for him as they came to their bed. There, the Lord Auditore made to collapse on it, but his wife braced a hand to his chest to stop him, and nodded towards the corner of his room. There, he found a tub filled with hot, steaming water. She couldn't imagine a more relieved smile could have crossed his features.

"Hold still," Catherine chuckled as she began to unbuckle his things, as they were oft to do when he had returned. Of course he could do it himself, but she liked to do it, and it gave her a chance to both admire his body—although she found herself a bit distracted from it this time around—which remained as firm and strong as ever, and inspect the wounds he might have received. Thankfully, he had not lied of the injury to his side; it was already scabbed over and healing well. Still, she touched at it gently, a frown upon her face. He placed his hand against hers while lifting her chin with the other.

"I'm fine. I promise," he spoke softly, and she believed him.

Sighing, she nodded and freed her hand to wave him off, "Alright, alright. Get the rest off. You want me to join you?"

"Are you really asking that?" he chuckled, to which she only grinned impishly and began to unbutton her own shirt, her usual gear having been left upstairs to begin with.

The rest of their clothing was soon shed, and husband and wife settled in the tub. She ensured she was at the rear, to allow Ezio to lean back against her. It gave her the room she needed to massage his shoulders, working his tense, sore muscles. She felt him relax at her touch, although the tension in the air was still heavy. His hands never fully relaxed on the edge of the tub, and some of his breaths came out as long, deep sighs through his nose. The redhead kept to her work, though, massaging and rubbing and working the knots.

At long last, though, he sighed aloud, "You think I made the wrong choice."

Not a question. A statement.

Catherine hated to admit it, but she couldn't completely deny it. As such, she, too, sighed, and wrapped her arms around him, resting on his shoulders. He turned slightly, to better look at her, which let her press her lips to his brow.

"It's not that… not _completely_ , anyways. I'm just… worried. And… well, we've fought him for so long, expecting to kill him one day, and yet… you let him go. I… I guess I'm just having trouble understanding _why_."

"I admit, Machiavelli's words have made me doubt some, but," he began, turning more so they were almost lying side-by-side in the tub. He let an arm drape on her hip and nestled his head in the crook of her neck. "But… when I was fighting him—there in the Vault… I could have killed him. It would have been so easy. He was old and frail despite putting up the fight he did. I _almost_ killed him… but seeing him there… I realized something; why I had come to this point. What drove me to that very moment. What had made me fight him all these years. I had told myself it was for the good of the people; that I was going to kill him to protect everyone, but in that moment I knew that was a lie. I only wished to kill him for the sake of revenge. For the sake of my brothers and my father… and for my own sake. My own, selfish desires.

He paused again, and the war raging within was painted clear upon his face, "Killing Rodrigo would not bring them back, though. I had killed all those men, and not one of them brought my family back."

"No… no it wouldn't… but killing them _has_ helped the people," she replied quietly, rubbing his hair gently.

"It has—I know it has, but… all this killing… when does it end? _Could_ it ever end? Watching him there—gasping for air… I wondered what kind of life it would be to keep on this path. To keep killing. And killing. And killing. On and on. Was that the kind of life I wanted us to have? To have our daughter grow up knowing? Our second child knowing?

Ezio sat up then, bracing his arms beside her as he met her gaze, the pain there so clear, "It wasn't just about my father and brothers. It was about all of it—about us. Our family. Our _life_. We fought to have a life of peace, but how can we have it if the killing never ends? So, I decided… I would end it there—by not killing him. By letting Rodrigo go and taking his power—taking his 'destiny' as Prophet… I did it to change things. To end this path of blood and anguish. That was what I wished…

The man sighed, gaze falling as he pressed his brow to hers, "But now I can't help but wonder if it was a mistake—if Machiavelli was right. _Should_ I have killed him?"

Catherine didn't speak at first, for the sole fact she didn't yet have the words. She did bring her arms up around her husband, though, kissing his head gently, and held him close. He wrapped an arm around her, taking what comfort he could in her embrace. She kept them there a long while before pulling back some, though only to place her hand upon his cheek, thumb brushing it gently. He looked to her, eyes full of hope she might see what he did—that she would understand.

"I think… you did what you thought was right… and… I think in a way, you did the right thing, too," she started slowly, trying to think on her words properly. "If we want a life of peace… it means to lay down our arms. To stop killing. Although… our war never really ends. The Assassins and Templars have been here for ages, and they'll continue long into the future… but… we've done our part—I think is the way to see it. We've given decades of our lives and ended terrible, cruel men, and helped free the people as best we could. So… So you're right—if we don't stop killing now, when will we?"

His eyes brightened some as he leaned into her touch, and she spared him a small smile.

"I admit, I feel better to hear you say so," he chuckled. "I am not without worry myself, though. My doubt lingers on whether Rodrigo will return… but he was defeated not in only body, but spirit. I took his dream from him—all he'd worked for."

"That's enough to make me think he will not continue to fight us… but I won't say I won't ever not worry. But I will hope for the best. And if you think it's finally time for us to lay down our blades… then I'm with you. I'm always with you. We walk this together, and we'll make sure Diana and our child to come will have a life of peace. No more fighting. No more Assassins and Templars. No more gods from a time before. Just us. Our life here. Our family."

"Just us… although, I worry of the temples the woman spoke of, too," her lover rumbled, to which she only shrugged.

"Didn't say we couldn't have an adventure, although I wonder if that's for this 'Desmond' to find… but either way, we don't need to do it as Assassins fighting Templars. If these temples are to aid mankind, then we do so for the sake of our world as humble adventurers," she hummed, somewhat playfully, though chuckled as she touched at her belly, "Although, we might have to wait a few years so we can raise this little one."

"My God, what would I do without you, my beautiful kitty-'Cat?" Ezio half-sighed as he grinned and kissed her deeply. He set his hand on top of hers on her belly, "You always know how to bring me joy… how far along do you think you are?"

"Only a few months—at most, I think. Or it could be a few weeks, I'm not sure. My bleeding has always been irregular since I came back, but it's been long enough, and I feel... _different_. I'm hoping I won't get morning sickness or at least not as badly this time around."

"As do Id—it was awful to see you in such pain… ah, these will be a good many months, although it will feel strange to no longer be roaming the land, finding targets," he chuckled as he finally released her and stood so he could slip from the tub. He used the nearby towel to quickly dry himself, and then held a new one open for his wife. She gave him a sweet look as she stepped out and let him rub it along her gently, stopping for a few moments on her belly as if to feel the babe growing inside. He also did the same at her breasts, which she smacked his hand for with a laugh.

"Oh, you'll not think of it much with Diana taking up all your time when Claudia isn't having you run errands. We should do research into the temples, too," Catherine hummed as she waited for her husband to grab her night shirt—originally his—and undergarments along with his.

"Ah, damn… she's going to be cross with me for avoiding her tonight. Think I should lock the door?" he grimaced, slipping his trousers on while she did the same for her shirt and undergarments. Catherine couldn't help lamenting they had to do so now, having slept rarely with anything on before the birth of their daughter. Unfortunately, her rambunctious nature called for there to be clothes so as to not have her accidentally see her parents in the nude.

"She'll forgive you as soon as you tell her about your journey," the redhead chuckle as she sauntered to the bed, slipping under the sheets. Ezio followed in suit, the now-cool bath all but forgotten as he pulled his wife to him, breathing in the scent of her hair.

He sighed softly, "It is good to be home—to have you in my arms again."

"I couldn't agree more," she chuckled, drawing her hands along his chest. "I missed this chest of yours. And that face. And abs. And—."

"—Cock?" Ezio smirked, cheeky as ever.

"Well, that, too, but, sadly, none of that for a while," she snickered, waggling a finger at him. "Can't believe I thought for a second you might have mellowed out."

"What? Me? Mellow? _Never_ ," he growled as he suddenly nipped her neck, eliciting a loud round of giggles from her. "I will suffer happily if it means a son—or daughter."

"But preferably a son. We could use a little copy of you running around, breaking hearts," Catherine chuckled, reaching up to brush a hair from his face. He caught her hand to kiss the palm.

"I will ensure he be more forward than his foolish father," Ezio winked, and his wife snorted.

"Good. We don't need a repeat of you and me," she replied coolly.

He grinned, "It worked didn't it?"

"Ugh, yes it did, you stupid, handsome man, you," she pouted, but couldn't help but laugh as he peppered her with kisses. She put a stop to it with a proper kiss on the lips, deep and loving, and then lying down as they always did—her nestled into his side, and his head resting against her forehead. Catherine let out a deep, relaxed breath of air. "Right or wrong… I'm glad it's over with the Templars. It will be nice to finally live a more normal life. Well, maybe a bit of adventure with the temples you mentioned—which we can wait until tomorrow to talk about, of course."

"Indeed… I need some rest before we even think about talking more about it, but yes: no more Templars. Just a good, happy, normal life—with a bit of adventure," Ezio rumbled with a slight smirk before allowing himself to finally rest comfortably after his long journey Although it took longer than she would have liked, Catherine, too, soon fell asleep.

Yet, she couldn't help her last waking though be filled with the lingering dread that letting Rodrigo live had been a mistake.

* * *

 **01 –** _End_

* * *

 ** _TMWolf:_** _Well. How about that. Chapter 1 finally begins, and a lot is already going on. Catherine is pregnant with kid #2, and if you read Chronos, well, you know who it is ;) Also, Diana is adorable and don't you forget it. Cat and Ezio are lucky to even have a second kid coming along at all. But, anyways. Important stuff already happening. Cat and Caterina becoming buddies (nothing like bonding over motherhood and being rulers of a city!), Ezio reveals he didn't kill Rodrigo (thanks, jerk, we all know how that ends up), Michiavelli is a pouty baby (okay, he had good reason, but c'mon, man), and Ezio is doing his best to stand by his choice._

 _And about that... so, he never really gives much for his reason beyond like... killing Rodrigo wouldn't change things, so I decided to add onto it, and it fit pretty well I thought for what they had. Besides, traveling around trying to find magical Temples is waaaaaaaay more fun (and technically safer) than fighting a war against Templars that's kind of been pretty near-death for years._

 _But, anyways. Time for crazy things to happen, and right after the love birds are being all cute._

 _Oh, by the way, never try to look up Caterina Sforza's husbands, because you will get confused and wonder how she's married to Giovanni Medici when he definitely died years ago and then realize the Medici reuse the same names a whole freaking lot like maniacs. Like seriously. Caterina's husband, Giovanni, ALSO HAS A BROTHER NAMED LORENZO BUT IT'S NOT THE ONE THAT'S BFF'S WITH EZIO. IT'S SO ANNOYING._

 _But, I digress. Enjoy the peace while it lasts X)_

 _P.S. Catherine never_ ever _lets Ezio live down making their confessions difficult._

 _P.P.S. Great Uncle Mario is a mouthful for Diana, who's too impatient and too stubborn to say it proper, the wild child._


	2. The Fall

**(Note: re-uploaded because I don't think my edits were coming up? Or it didn't work the first time and I didn't notice until now lol? :L Maybe I'm just crazy, too, but wanted to be sure, so re-uploaded. Sorry for double e-mail notification XP)**

 **TMWolf:** _So, um, hooooooooooooly cow I was not expecting so many folks to pop up on the first chapter like that dang! Y'all are awesome! More of you were waiting for this than I thought, haha. So. It's begun, and it started out so good... too bad it's all going to shit now :'D I couldn't let be happy for too long and, come on, y'all have played the game, right? You know what's gonna happen ;) But it was fun while it lasted, right?_

 _Anyways. So. We're following the game right now, but it IS going to deviate, and I am going to alter how quickly the game makes things SEEM like they're going. I mean, Caterina isn't rescued until 1501, so we got a year before THAT scene, and plenty to happen. So try not to get weirded out with how I space things. I'm also including some characters that aren't in the game, but are in other canonical medium, though I won't go... super deep into their stories. Just enough, though, for my purposes, haha._

 _Right. So. This title is from Rhye - The Fall, though doesn't necessarily have anything to do with the song, but the title fits._

 _Also: so, anyone want to tell me why I called Act I what it is? ;) You get like... a cookie if you do?_

 _Oh, and feel free to leave any questions or comments! Some reviews take longer to show up than others for some reason (like one didn't show up for 12 hours?), but I promise I will review to any and all reviews that I see! :) Also, if I do a stupid mistake, be it historical, mythological, grammatical, or whatever, please let me know!_

 _Now onto the show!_

* * *

 **02** – _The Fall_

* * *

 **January 2, 1500**

 **Monteriggioni, Italy**

Catherine tried to gain a restful sleep, but it wouldn't come—not fully. She tossed and turned often before she could drift off, but that lasted only hours at most; perhaps even just minutes. She couldn't be sure beyond that she knew she would not be at ease tonight. She did take some comfort seeing her husband resting soundly, his doubts eased after their talk, but she could not be rid of the lingering feeling of dread in her belly. That, or it was her unborn child, but that was unlikely, although for once she wished it _was_ the morning sickness and not her fears.

Sighing softly, the redhead shifted up, letting the sheets fall. A chill prickled at her skin despite her shirt, and she wasn't sure it was because of the cold of the early morning. She looked down at Ezio, who was on his side, arm still draped over her legs. He must have been more tired than he let on to not feel her shift, and so she kept her hand to herself instead of brushing his loose, still-damp hair from his face. She did watch him, though; noting the gentle rise and fall of his chest; the way his fingers twitched ever so slightly as he dreamed; the peacefulness of his face.

She was jealous, in a way, of how certain he was of things. How he could so be so sure they were free of their enemies. She couldn't remember a time she hadn't been in fear of the Templars since coming to this place-to this _time_ so long ago. And while truthfully the Clock had been the ultimate cause for her journey, the enemy, too, had been such a driving force for everything they did and for every change in her life. And now that the Clock was gone—nothing but an inert, pretty trinket—they were the _only_ factor for why they had continued to fight. To rid the people of their influence and preserve that freedom. But now? Now Ezio spoke of being free of such things. Such chains.

And it wasn't that she didn't want it. No, she wanted to be free of the danger—of the responsibility. They had a child now. Soon, another. A family. They had a different responsibility to see to. As long as their fight with the Templars went on, that family would be involved. It had to end if they hoped for peace. So Ezio's choice should have been the right one. Their path was that of killing. If her husband had killed Rodrigo, then he would simply have continued the cycle. Sparing the man started a new path. A path of peace. A path to fulfil the dream they'd dreamed an age ago. To grow old together, having lived a life like no other.

So why could she not believe in it?

She wanted it, but her heart could not give in.

The redhead withheld her groan as she laid back, almost flopping, and let her arm drape over her face. A mumble came from the man next to her, and his arm move as he stirred. He made another murmur, pausing in his movements, and then sighed softly.

"What's… wrong?" he rumbled, still half-asleep.

She reached down to pat his hand, "Nothing, go back to sleep, my love."

"S'not nothin'… never nothin'… wif you," he replied, and, not for the first time, she hated his uncanny ability to know her so well. He yawned as he pushed up to one elbow, moving his free arm from her hips to the limb covering her face and pulled it out of the way. She had a huffy look waiting for him, to which he let last a moment before he yawned once more. "You're still not alright with my choice."

"Just not as confident as you are. I trust you, I do. I just can't help but worry. Blame it on motherhood, I guess," she grumbled, shrugging slightly. She turned her head towards him, reaching over to rub his chin. "I'll come around. I will. I promise. It's just not easy for me to do so right now… I hate admitting it, but…"

"No, you're right to be wary. Even _I_ think it's crazy, but Mother is right. I have to stand by my decision, and I do. It will be worth it in the end. _I_ promise that."

"I know," Catherine smiled, leaning over to kiss him gently. "You've always done right by us… well, except the five years before we confessed, but, _you know_."

His pout was adorable, "You're never going to drop that are you? I told you it was to make you jealous and just confess, and it _worked_."

"I'm your _wife_. I'm supposed to hold on to everything that rattles you. Now, hush, and go back to sleep," she grinned, putting a finger to his lips, and then turned so her back was to him. His arms wrapped her at once and his head nuzzled into the nape of her neck, breathing in deeply.

"You try and sleep, too, alright?" he rumbled, already starting to lull off.

"Mm," was her reply as she closed her eyes, hoping she could grant his request.

In some ways, she did. It was fleeting for the most part, but she had flickers of dreams she forgot as soon as she woke. It was enough to have her not feel totally exhausted, but she still sighed dejectedly when light beamed through the curtains, illuminating the room in a dim glow. They would need to get up soon, if only because Diana woke up earlier than all of them for some God-forsaken reason, and the little spitfire would come begging them for attention. She loved it deep down, but right now Catherine wished for some peace.

Sadly, even _if_ her daughter spared them, it seemed their men would not.

It was a far-off echo, but it was loud enough to stir someone from their sleep. Being she was already awake, Catherine knew she couldn't try to sleep again. Ezio was waking up, anyways, groaning softly as another cannon fire went off.

" _Really_? Is Mario _really_ having them practice so early?" the redhead hummed, reaching up to rub her face.

"It's alright. Needed to wake up, anyways. Diana will be coming soon enough," her husband yawned, turning so he could half-lie on her, nuzzling into her neck.

She snorted, petting her hand through his hair, "You say that, but you're definitely intent on sleeping more."

He huffed, blowing hot air onto her neck, "I haven't gotten to use you for a pillow since even before I left. Let me enjoy this, woman."

"Alright, alright, but I'm fleeing before Diana lands on you," the redhead snickering, kissing his brow.

Another boom echoed, and suddenly the room was exploding.

A cannonball tore right through the walls, striking the pillar supporting the ceiling and letting loose a volley of wood and glass debris. Ezio covered Catherine protectively, holding her close, but then they were both leaping from the bed. The central pillar crumbled, but managed to land on top of itself, keeping upright—for now. Both Assassins made for their gear, Catherine her boots and Ezio a shirt to go with his own pair of shoes. He paused, though, seeing his armor in shambled—an unfortunate victim of the cannon ball. Catherine, luckily, had hers spared, but only slipped on her chest armor and grabbed both her and her husband's swords. She tossed him his, still attached to his belt, and he quickly buckled it on.

" _Shit_! We have to find Mario and rally the troops!" he rasped, mind whirling.

"You go find him—I'll see to the people. We have to get them and Diana out of here," the redhead barked back, racing over to his side. She nodded to the now opening in their room, exposing the vast, surrounding countryside. It also revealed the massive army coming ever closer. "Take the short cut. I'll get everyone in the house to the sanctuary, and then I'll get the people and what men we can. You've got to hold the walls until then."

"I can do that," he nodded back before grasping the back of her neck and kissing her hard. "I'll meet you in the sanctuary."

"Good. Now, go," she grinned, and then they were moving.

While her husband shot out the room onto the _Villa_ 's roof, she flew to the ladder and slid down to the hallway, which she took at a sprint. Already she heard people shouting in the main hallway, and nearly collided with a servant racing by in a panic. Others were running around much the same, save for Caterina, whom came tearing towards her once she saw her fellow redhead.

"My men are the courtyard—I aim to lead them around back and flank the attackers," she spoke and made to go on, but the Lady Auditore grasped her arm.

"Do you know who it is?" she asked, but only got a shake of her head. Catherine released the woman's arm. "Be careful. Ezio's going to help the others fight them back while I get the city out—we have an exit in the sanctuary below. When you can escape, try to go through there. You'll see it when you come back to Mario's study. Otherwise, take to the countryside and find the nearest village you can. They'll help you."

Caterina said nothing, only nodding as she left to rally her own men. Catherine, meanwhile hurried to the stairs, scanning the racing patrons and denizens, whom were already making for the study. Either Annetta or her family would have known to open the pathway, and, sure enough, she saw the book case shifted, revealing the darkened staircase to the sanctuary below. Servants rushed through, and at the opening she spotted one of her nephews.

"Giovanni!" she barked, hurrying to him.

"'Cat!" he called back, grasping her arm. She could see his brow already had a line of sweat, and his breathing a bit haggard, as if he'd been running for miles. There were red stains on his clothes, too. "They came without warning! I barely had time to get here and warn the others!"

"Who? Who's attacking?!"

"The _Borgia_! With the Papal army! They came just before dawn, under the cover of night. It's a fucking siege armada!" he rasped, his eyes wide with fear. He grasped her shirt a bit tighter as he met her gaze, "We don't have the men to beat them—not now. We don't have enough."

Catherine's stomach dropped, and she could barely hear the shouts of denizens that were starting to trickle in. Her mind worked quick, but not quick enough.

Her fears had come true.

Consequence had caught up with them. So quick.

Too quick.

"'Cat?!"

The redhead's eyes shot to her nephew, desperation in his gaze. He was a man now and a warrior, but he was still so young. Too young. He was scared. Unsure. He must have been there right when it happened—when the wave of red emerged. He'd been with his father and brother, hadn't he? That was why he was here. Ottavio must have sent him. Was his brother still there, too? Were they alright? Had they gotten back okay? Or was Giovanni the only one? How the hell had this all happened in the first place? How could they not have seen them?

She supposed it didn't matter. Not right now. Not anymore. They had to fight and survive this fight. That was the focus. Ezio would rally the men and find a way to keep the Borgia and Papal army at bay, and she had to get everyone out—or as many as she could.

"Stay here, guard the exit. I'm going to get others here," she urged, squeezing his shoulder. The command gave him some measure of comfort, for his gaze grew steadier and he nodded. "Where are your father and brother? Did your mother and grandmother come here? And your cousin? Did Diana make it yet?"

"Mother—I… no, not yet. I don't know where they are, but—but Diana and Grandmother did. Annetta brought them and got them through. She's safe. "And Father… he… he's fighting. He sent me and Federico back to give warning and get the men, but they… 'Rico stayed behind to help while I went on. He… I don't… They're…"

"You did good, Giovanni," she told him, hugging him tightly for a brief moment. She cupped the side of his head, "Now listen: _hold fast_. Protect this place as long as you can, and make sure you get as many through here as you can. None of the enemy can follow. Do you understand?"

"I—," he began, wavering suddenly, but then become stalwart again. "I understand. Go. Find Mother and Federico. _Please_."

"I will."

Her nephew having found his courage, Catherine headed toward the entryway, slipping past the panicked and screaming denizens who fled to the sanctuary, hurried on by Giovanni. To her dismay, the main entrance was blocked, the balcony above having collapsed from an earlier attack. She spun on her heel and made for the rear exit, glad to see people were trickling through. She hurried out, and sprinted towards the front courtyard. There, she stopped cold. The smoke hit her abruptly, stinging her eyes, and forcing her to cough as it filled her lungs. Dark clouds covered the cityscape, nearly blacking out the sun. It was almost as if storm clouds had blown in, but lightning was fire burning their precious city down, and thunder was the echo of cannons that burst apart stone and tile. Screams filled the air as thick as the smoke, and although the walls had no fallen yet, the chaos had washed over everything.

 _Monteriggioni_ was burning.

Nostalgia struck her, but it was only there for a moment before reality returned and she forced herself to move.

A cannonball soared overhead, striking somewhere behind the _Villa_. More still came flying over the walls, and down below people were doing their best to avoid scattering debris and the flames that threatened to engulf every home and building. By some miracle, their people had enough sense to fly to the _Villa_ where they could escape through the sanctuary tunnels, which would lead them to the far side of the city—and to safe passage. The army could only come from one direction if it was the Borgia, and the pathway in the rear led to routes in the woods only they knew that would take them to towns and villages they had earned the loyalty of for just such scenarios.

Yet, even knowing that, Catherine could scarcely believe it was happening. Their city was under attack and _falling_. The Borgia were rendering their near-impenetrable walls defenseless, and she could only pray the main gate would hold until they could all get everyone out safely. But how many had already perished? How many soldiers were stuck outside or shot down from the ramparts? Was Mario out there? Was Ottavio? Federico? Had Ezio gotten to them? And where were Maria and Claudia? They should have been in the _Villa_ , but what if they had left before the assault in the early hours?

Catherine cursed as a cannonball struck the right side of the _Villa_ , nearly bringing down an entire wall. The rest of the building was not faring much better, but it would hold. It had to.

"Quickly! This way! Around the back! Get to the sanctuary!" she shouted to a small group, whom immediately darted her way and then beyond her. She went onwards, jogging to the training area and then the railing on the outside. There, she scanned the city quickly.

There were still many people in the streets. Most looked alright, but others were dirty, either with mud, blood, soot, or a combination of all three. All were rushing to the stairway to the upper levels, for which she was grateful, but it was then she noticed the stragglers. A man whose leg was broken and relying on his wife to carry him. A child, crying next to the broken, bloodied body of her mother. Another man screaming in agony on the ground, his legs pulled to his chest. A woman in tears as she cradled her burnt child. A corpse, dark and red from the fires. Another on the ground, blood mixed with mud, and a wooden beam stuck through their middle. Their soldiers were racing this way and that, while others were along the wall, firing the cannons and shooting what arrows they could. Hot tar was dumped in some spots, and fire shot out, but it seemed to do little. Catherine could only imagine there was an ocean of red among the hills, and she prayed they were doing _some_ sort of damage.

Regardless of her hopes, she had to act. Her people needed help, and so she raced to the city streets. There, she called to those she could, urging them to the _Villa_. She pulled others from the dead, forcing them to go. There was no point in staying and no time to mourn. She hated the sorrow that consumed them and the screams of despair that erupted from their throats, but she pushed them still. For those that she could not stir or were too weak, she abandoned. She loathed it—loathed _herself_ for it, but she not afford to drag any who truly wished to die or were nearly gone. The living were her priority, and she was only somewhat relieved as she continued to find more and more.

Yet, she had not found her sister-in-law. The notion frightened her, but she held strong to hope. The woman was Auditore. She knew how to survive, so surely she was near the _Villa_. She knew where to go. Perhaps she only left to get Federico. Surely that was it. Ottavio she had to know could not be reached—her mind flickered to the battle outside, praying he was alive—but her older nephew might be near, and it must have been to him Claudia was going. Catherine decided to believe her sister-in-law had made it out as she pulled a man free from debris and sent him, albeit limping, towards the _Villa_.

A roaring cry pulled the redhead's gaze upwards, and her heart sank. The ramparts had been breached. Among the dark armor of Mario's men was glimmers of red, and despite the darkened sky sunlight glimmered off their blades. Screams filled the air, and she knew men were on the ground, terrorizing the people. She cursed as she made towards them, drawing her blade.

The first soldier came into view, and she thrust her weapon clean through his belly. He gasped, bludgeon dropping, and then fell when she pulled her sword free. She engaged the next Borgia dog, spinning around his broadsword and slicing open his gut. Those were the only two here, leaving her with a very relieved woman and her daughter.

"Hurry! To the _Villa_! Go!" she snapped, and they obeyed.

Catherine looked to the walls and saw the red was growing thicker. Her comrades were falling back. She looked to the others and paused when she saw white among the rest—her husband. He kicked a Borgia soldier from the wall, and then used his hidden blade to take down another. His gun armament fired, stopping a third in their tracks.

Good. He was fine. She would join him later, though. More soldiers were descending near her and she raced to engage them. She caught the first by surprise, slicing clean through his face. He gurgled, his scream suffocated by blood, and then danced towards the next. He sliced, but missed, and she stabbed through his chest. The third swung and cut through the sleeve of her shirt, but missed the skin. She parried his blade and sliced through his thigh. He fell, screaming, but was silenced with a strike to his throat.

"Bitch!" came a snarl from behind, and the redhead turned just in time to bring up her blade and stop a spiked mace from crushing her skull. The force was too much for her to stay upright, causing her to trip as she tried to turn, and fell backwards. The stones hurt against her shoulders, but the fall threw her attacker off balance, too. She shoved her heel into his chest and threw him aside. She scrambled up just as he did, but he had lost his mace, while she kept her sword. She shoved it up through his chin and into his skull, killing him instantly. She tried to pry it free, but was forced to leap back instead, abandoning her blade, as another soldier came at her. Her eyes flicked to the mace, which she snatched up, and, on one knee, swung it up—right into the soldier's arms. She heard them crack as she stood and spun, swinging the weapon into the man's skull. It, too, cracked, and he did not move once he fell.

"Shit! They're everywhere!" she panted, tossing the mace, and finally retrieving her weapon. She grimaced at the carnage she'd caused, but this was war. If she didn't do it to them, she'd be dead right now, and she had too much to live for.

"A redheaded woman who wields a sword in the protection of _Monteriggioni_. Lady Catherine Auditore," a voice spoke, and when the woman whirled around she found a man with pale skin, dark hair, and black, soulless eyes staring at her. He did not wear red, but his dark, blue-ish robed adorned with decadent jewelry and lined with gold and white, was not of her city. His gaze was too cold. Too cruel. His smirk was too sinister. He held his arms clasped behind his back, but he was no less threatening for it. "So. I have found you."

"And who are _you_?" she snarled back, brandishing her blade.

"The right hand of your conqueror. Now surrender quietly. Cesare does not wish you harmed… much."

Catherine's mind spun quickly.

Cesare. She only knew one man of that name that could be attacking, and it was none other than Cesare _Borgia_. Rodrigo's son. The commander of the Papal Armies. No wonder they were here, too.

She nor Ezio had engaged the man personally, but they knew enough. No doubt some of their allies had encountered him at some point during the attack on _Roma_ to obtain the Apple, but they had no quarrel with him directly. Except, that wasn't entirely right, was it? No, he was the son of Rodrigo, and the Spaniard—now the Pope—was their mortal enemy. Had he gone to the bastard then, after Ezio had beaten him? He did come here now, on the shoulders of his progeny, to exact revenge?

But wait—why did _Cesare_ not want _her_ harmed? How did he even know her? What had Rodrigo told him? Why did they want her?  
"Cesare must not know the Auditore very well if he think I'll just give up," she growled in return, glaring right on back at him despite her growing confusion.

The man sighed, of all things, "I admit, the notion brings me great pleasure. I have had such little fun this battle… but I do not wish to displease my Lord. I ask again, my Lady: come peacefully."

"Or _what_? You'll _hit_ me?" she spat, shifting her stance to be ready for a strike.

"Oh no, I would have much worse in store for you," he replied, his voice growing low and as cold as his gaze. Were she not hardened by years of life as an Assassin, Catherine might have shuddered. Instead, she watched him pull out a dagger. An usual choice against a sword, but it only put her more on edge. Whatever he planned, though, she did not expect him to suddenly whistle, nor for a small squad of men—five in total—to suddenly surround her. "Sadly, I have been commanded, and I must obey. Subdue her. Quickly. And try not to harm her _too_ much."

They came fast, but not to kill. She blocked the first blade, ramming her palm into the soldier's face and possibly breaking his nose. She had no time to finish him off as another came at her, slashing downward. She dodged it and cut him across the face. He screamed in agony while she countered another blade, this one aimed for her backside. She had spun around in time, though, her instincts urging her to do so, and then kicked him away. She had to back-peddle to keep away from the next onslaught by two at once, and only barely managed to avoid having her leg sliced off. It did cut her just above the knee, though, eliciting a hiss. She rolled to avoid a third strike, grabbing a handful of mud from the stone tile, and slung it up at her enemies. It struck one too low on the chin, but enough splatter got the eyes to briefly stun him, which gave her the opportunity to slice upwards, cleaving his chin, nose, and lip nearly in two. He fell back, yowling in pain, and she turned to face the others.

"You are quite tenacious. I would have enjoyed killing you slowly," the man hummed, his knife now at her throat, just daring to break the skin, but not quite. Catherine swallowed hard, having not even notice him come up behind her. He had been like a shadow, and the noise of the battle had muted his steps. She watched him carefully now, wondering if he would defy Cesare or not. She shifted, but the knife pressed closer, and she felt a small trickle go down. "Do _not_ push me, my Lady. I will have to break you, if you do."

She believed him, and, despite wanting to stick him through—she had the reach to do—she knew she had to surrender. For now. If she kept fighting, he would make good on his word, and the knife was too close to her jugular to risk a movement. Even if only by accident, she could severely hurt herself, and she couldn't afford that. Ezio was counting on her to stay alive. Diana was, too. And so was their unborn child. The latter forced a flicker of guilt through her. The child growing in her had been forgotten in the chaos, but now she wondered if she might have harmed them? No. No, she refused to believe that. She'd exerted herself when pregnant with Diana before, and this was only a bit more than that. The child was fine. She was fine. She would find a way out of this.

For now, she would cooperate with this man.

"Take her sword and restrain her," the man barked to the soldiers, whom did so—roughly. She hissed when they yanked her arms back tightly, and the man sneered, pointing his dagger at them. " _Gently_ now. Our Lord needs her in good health."

She heard her captor flinch, and she briefly considered headbutting him, but refrained as her wrists were pulled tight together with rope, and the ring leader—the man she still didn't know the name of—grabbed her arm, and began to pull her through the streets.

"Root out any stragglers and kill them. Leave none alive," the man barked, and what Borgia soldiers Catherine had failed to take down skittered off. The redhead prayed the others had escaped as she was "escorted" through the ruins of the city, the cannon fire still echoing and the fight still raging. It wasn't as loud as before, though. The war cries were less, as was the sound of blades crossing. The battle was ebbing, and she knew it was their loss. Had everyone gotten out, though—those of them alive? Had Mario and Ottavio escaped, or were they still fighting? What about Ezio? Where had he gotten to? And what of Maria and Claudia? Had Giovanni found them and got them through? Were he and his brother alright?

Would _she_ be alright?

' _Maybe I should have fought more. Should fight_ now _,'_ Catherine considered, glancing to the man. Her thoughts flickered to her belly, and she reconsidered. The ropes were too tight for her to escape, and she didn't have her Hidden Blade on her, which she greatly lamented now. She hadn't the time to grab them let alone find them this morning in the rush out of their room, and her captor has his dagger at the ready. His grip was iron-tight as well, and every fiber of her being was screaming that he was dangerous. There was an air about him, and maybe it was the carnage all around, but she swore he smelled like blood despite having none on him.

Whatever the case, fighting right now wasn't smart. There weren't enough allies nearby, and she didn't know where Ezio was. If he was around, then maybe she could struggle, but this was a lost battle. She was wanted alive, though, and that was an advantage. She just had to figure out _why_ and use it from there. There was still a chance to escape _and_ keep their unborn child safe.

A shuddering crack and boom made Catherine jump, and her eyes shot to the entryway where smoke billowed through the main gate. Her stomach dropped, and her blood went cold. That had been their last—and strongest—bulwark. If the main gate was gone that meant their front line had failed.

"Ah, there he is," the man hummed, and she thought he'd meant Cesare, but the man who stumbled through was not him nor a soldier or even one of their mercenaries.

It was Mario.

Weak. Dirty. Bloodied. Falling.

She screamed for him as he fell, but the man held fast. She struggled hard, shouting for the Commander as he struggled to rise, but ultimately remained on the ground. He was barely strong enough to push himself up as the entourage of their enemy came through. At the front, a man with dark hair to match his dark beard and adorned in silver armor with a cape flowing down his back. He carried himself like a leader, and she knew he had to be Cesare. She didn't recognize the large cardinal with him, nor the other man in armor, though it was not of Italian design. There was a blonde-haired woman besides Cesare now, clad in the familiar shade of red, and a mocking smirk upon her red lips. Catherine couldn't place her, but it hardly mattered as her dismay deepened when she saw Caterina in their midst, her arms tied behind her back as well. She had a strong face on, but she knew the woman no doubt felt the same despair. Her men had lost as well, and she could only imagine she lived because she was a woman—and because of her influence as a leader of _Forli_.

"My Lord!" her captor called, and the man she guessed to be Cesare turned. He, like the blonde-haired woman, smirked, and gestured with his hand for them to come forward. Pikemen were in their way, but shifted to allow them through. Caterina met Catherine's gaze, and there was such fear in her eyes that the redhead's heart sank further than she thought it ever could.

"Well done, Micheletto," Cesare chuckled, reaching over to grasp the redhead's chin. Catherine snapped at his hand, snarling. He laughed as the blonde-haired woman leaned upon him, smiling like a snake as the man spoke, "She's as fiery as her hair—just as father described. Good. Perhaps he was right about the rest then. Be sure to hold her fast. Assassins are such treacherous creatures."

"Yes, my Lord," Micheletto nodded, tightening his grip, and stepping back slightly. His Lord then looked to the burning city before glancing down at Mario, and then to the city once more.

"I know you are there, Ezio. The Pope told me about you and your little group of Assassins… of what your lovely little wife can do… and this!" he bellowed, lifting from a pouch at his side the one thing Catherine had prayed would never fall in the Templar hands again.

The Apple of Eden.

"No! You bastard! How did you—!" Catherine snarled, only to have the other armored man suddenly slap her across the face.

"Be silent wench!" he snapped, glowering, but then raised a brow as Cesare suddenly snatched an odd weapon, resembling a small rifle from his hand—a notion that turned her blood even colder.

"Give the me the weapon his friend fashioned for us," he growled, and then straightened, posture relaxing. Catherine's heart raced faster as he went on, "We have had too much bloodshed. I think a cleansing is in order. So consider this an invitation… from my family… to _yours_."

Time slowed as Cesare lifted the gun above him, and then turned it downward—aimed right at Mario. Catherine's heart stopped as she watched wide-eyed. Her breath hitched, and though she willed her body to body, it was as though she were frozen. Her legs would not move as her mind refused to accept the reality, and yet it happened.

The gun fired, and the world exploded with the crack of thunder, a flash of lightning, a shower of blood, and an earth-shattering scream.

Despite the man's hold, Catherine wrenched herself free, a wild-like shriek escaping her lips as she charged Cesare, not caring she couldn't hit him or do much of anything. He had killed Mario and she would rip his throat out with her teeth if she had to!

Yet, she did not get within two feet of him before a spear slammed into the side of her head, forcing her to the ground. She felt another blow to her side and her leg and then her belly. Panic seized her as she remembered what grew inside her, and she quickly turned to protect her front, but could not keep her gaze from the face of the man who had practically raised her, even if from adult hood; the man who had given her a new life here. Made her stronger. Better. Gave her a new path to follow. The man who had trained her for so long and helped make her what she was. A man she had considered a father.

And now he was dead.

Mario was gone, his dark eyes wide and unmoving as he stared right on back. The light in them was dark, the blood dribbling down through his dark locks and over his aged skin to pool beneath him. Tears stung her eyes, and she wanted nothing more than to scream again, but she held it back. She refused to give them that satisfaction. They could beat her all they wanted. She wouldn't give in—and she wouldn't let them take another from her.

"Stop! Please stop!" Caterina's voice howled as they kept striking her. "You must stop! She is with child!"

Catherine could not have shot a more venomous glare at the woman, although it did the trick: the blonde-haired woman raised a hand, and the pikemen stopped their assault.

"Lucrezia," Cesare began, almost pouting, but the woman only looked to him coyly, her lips curved upwards ever so sweetly. Catherine wanted to carve her mouth off her face.

"You remember what father said. She is necessary. And consider this: you want Ezio to face you, and not only do we have his wife… but his unborn child. You wanted to ensure he comes, and now you have _three_ reasons," the woman hummed, eyes flickering first to Mario's body and then to the redhead, whom glared right on back. The woman, Lucrezia, cooed slightly, brushing the man's face gently with her hand. "Besides… Giovanni could use a brother—or sister—don't you think?"

"Raise the child as my own?" he snorted, but then pause, thinking. He motioned to the men as he did so, but instead of grabbing Catherine, they grabbed Mario's head. The Lady Auditore struggled, snarling profanities at them, but Micheletto hauled her up and away. She could only watch as they began to saw at his neck, each hack ripping through her very soul. Her only reprieve was to glare at Cesare, whom regarded her now, a vile smirk on his face. "Hmm… Yes… how… _poetic_. To raise my enemy's child—to have them grow to hate him. And you're right, my dear sister, Giovanni could use a younger sibling to keep him company… It seems you have two purposes now, Lady Auditore."

" _Fuck you_! I'll fucking kill you before I do anything for you God-damned fucking—!" the redhead snarled, only for her captor to strike her face. She tasted copper in her mouth, either her cheek or tongue bleeding, and spat some out.

Cesare chuckled, "Be gentle now, Micheletto. We need her strong enough to use the Apple—and grow the child. Take her to the carriage. We will join you shortly."

"As Cesare commands, so I obey," the man hummed, bowing his head, and no matter how hard she struggled, Catherine could not break free. No shriek or scream or threat loosened his hold. She howled in agony as she watched them place Mario's head on a pike, parading it around like a flag.

There was nothing she could do as she was dragged to the regal carriage and forced inside, her captor never easing his grip. She could only sit there—her body throbbing from every blow; her heart aching from every scream and the memory of death—and watch as all she knew was reduced to nothing.

It was over.

 _Monteriggioni_ had fallen.

Mario was dead.

Ezio was nowhere to be found.

Maria and Claudia and Ottavio and Federico could be dead.

Caterina was captured.

 _She_ was captured.

Her unborn child was in danger.

It was too much.

She could only spare her broken home one final look before hope failed her, and Catherine felt true despair.

* * *

 **02 –** _End_

* * *

 ** _TMWolf:_** _Whelp, this isn't good._

 _Sooo... yeah. Things are not going well. Monteriggioni has fallen, and, while it didn't happen in the game, in the BOOK adaptation, the Borgia parade Mario's head around on a pike. Seemed fitting to keep, being that the Borgia are crazy, sick, conniving jerks. Also, it would make it worse for 'Cat since Mario kinda was a dad for her :'D But, anyways..._

 _Okay, so, I know it probably seems a little weird for the whole baby thing, but I thought it would be an extra kick to the gut (metaphorically in this case, although it was literal, too ID), and because I wanted to include Giovanni Borgia (Lucrezia and an Assassin's child, but believed to be Rodrigo Borgia. The Infans Romanus), so it worked out. That, and I liked to think Lucrezia would like another kid to have with Cesare since she was going to be his "Queen" and all. Also, they're assholes. So why not? A second hostage for Ezio, too. But, Catherine's most important role for them is the Apple. While Cesare probably could use it... well, let's just say Rodrigo has mentioned some previous encounters before or hinted at them, and I wanna say Cesare couldn't use the Apple like Ezio could. Maybe. Or he's being careful. Either way, they want 'Cat for their nefarious purposes, so she's been captured. But yeah, baby bit is for draaaamaaaaaa *hang gestures*_

 _Micheletto is fun, by the way, that psychopath. I'm going to enjoy using him for my drama tee hee._

 _And now the slow culmination of crazy begins for Catherine, which is really what the first Act is about-piling all the pressure and stress together so that the fun of Act II comes together nicely. That, and building up Ezio's army, too, on the other side, but we'll get to that._

 _You'll see what I mean for it all when it gets there ;) In the mean time, I hope you all enjoyed reading this fun, crazy scene, and look forward to seeing how Catherine figures this situation out..._


	3. Broken Bones

**TMWolf:** _Previous chapter upload was just a quick re-do for an edit, and I've decided to move any updates to Friday, although if y'all prefer another day let me know! I'm all for putting chapters out on days that work for y'all :'D Anyways, this chapter is a little short, but had it's own important roles. It's more filler-ish, but setting up things for the future. Also... sooo another difference from Chronos here, will be that you're going to see a LOT more Ezio! :) Yep, I have half focus on him this story, as it become important for it. So we get a look into his psyche, too! X)_

 _Anyways... not too much to say... although, well, actually: Man, y'all spoiled me on ch. 1 and now you play me wrong like that with ch 2 ;( Why y'all so mean xD Just kidding, but I do want to hear any comments, be it on the story or on errors (seriously, if you see them, point them out!), or any questions. I want to know what you think! :) Oh, and for my one guest review:_

 ** _AlexRylie:_ **_Hehehe I'm so glad you enjoyed Chronos! I hope this one lives up to the excitement! xD It's good to be back, too X)_

 _Alright. So. This chapter is from CHVRCHES - Broken Bones. Wasn't too happy with my title options, but I guess it fits okay. Not necessarily the song, but eh. It works I guess xD_

 _Enjoy the Borgias being dicks as usual! :'D_

* * *

 **03 –** _Broken Bones_

* * *

 **January 2, 1500**

 **Countryside, Italy**

They sat Caterina next to Catherine on the left, with Micheletto on her right, a knife still in his hand, ready to threaten her neck again. He wouldn't kill her, that Catherine was sure of. They needed her alive and well, but this man was dangerous. He would harm her just enough to keep her docile, but that could mean a lot of things. A cut would be tolerated, no doubt, and so long as he didn't harm the unborn child or make her incapable of doing as they needed, it would be allowed. It didn't leave her with many options, although the redhead was more than tempted to suddenly lash out with her boot's heel and ram it right between the legs of the man sitting across from her. The man who had led the siege of her city—her _home_. The man who threatened her family and had taken away Mario from her.

Cesare Borgia.

 _Bastard_.

Hazel eyes flicked to the woman whom sat beside him, practically lounged across his chest with her breasts daring to pop out of that gaudy, pompous, whore-dress of hers. Lucrezia, she recalled was the bitch's name, and the one who had dared suggest they take her child.

She'd make sure the cunt suffered for that. She'd made them all suffer.

For all the anger brewing within her, however, she did not have the strength to do more than glare at her captors. She kept her lips sealed tight, not sure if a curse would come out or a sob. It took everything to not simply fall apart then and there, recalling the memories just moments—or was it hours—ago. The city had long since fallen away from view, but the images were still there, burned into her mind. The smoke-filled sky was clear now, the sun shining bright, and yet she could still feel it suffocating her lungs. She could still hear the screams and howls of agony. She could still feel the heat of fire, and the clash of steel. The blood-spattered stone, and the dead, unmoving eyes of Mario were there, staring steadily at her.

No matter how far the carriage moved, the fall of _Monteriggioni_ and all she knew and loved remained there, brewing within her head and her heart. It bubbled with sorrow and rage all mixed into a venomous concoction that ate at her insides and grew worse and worse with each moment of her reality crashing down on her—the helpless of it. Her failure. Her powerlessness. Worst of all—her fear.

She didn't know what had become of her people, and now she could never know. She prayed that it wouldn't be forever, but the thought clung tightly to her. Would she ever see her loved ones again? Had Ezio survived the fight? Would he come for her? Would he know where to look? If he was alive, had he found his mother and sister and their daughter? Would Diana be alright? Was she safe? Did Annetta take her somewhere safe? If not with her family then, perhaps— _Firenze?_ Surely Paola could help. Maybe. She hoped. Would her family go there? What of her nephews? Had Giovanni held and escaped with Federico? Were they alright? Or were they—could they be gone?

Catherine shook the notion from her mind but could not be rid of it. It lingered in the back of her mind, ready to strike at any moment her will wavered, and it was already so weak now. It didn't help her body was, too; the fire of the battle had left her, and now she felt heavy and exhausted. Her body hurt and ached all over, and she could already feel parts of her limbs swelling where she'd been struck. Her cuts stung, and her head was swimming. She could still taste the copper from whatever had cut in her mouth. Keeping her eyes opened hurt, but she didn't dare let her guard down. It was hard, though, with how hard her head pounded; as if it were a drum someone beat upon. The thunder of a marching army all around didn't help, either. The thought of it a _victorious_ army marching home only made it worse.

"Oh, do try to not look so sad, my Lady—we will take good care of _Monteriggioni_ for you," Cesare chuckled.

Catherine's gaze, having wandered to the countryside, shot fire at the man. Blood had pooled into her mouth some, mixing with her saliva, and so she spat it right at him, hitting his cheek. Micheletto's hand shot to her chin, grasping it tightly and wrenching her back while Lucrezia shouted some petty insult at her. To his credit, the man only flinched a little, though he did scowl when he wiped it off.

"Even the Auditore _women_ are savages," the blonde-haired bitch hissed, leering at the redhead.

"Says the _woman_ who helped massacre an entire city," Caterina scoffed in return, leering in kind.

" _I_ merely retaliated to _your_ attack on His Excellency, the Pope. If you Assassins had simply left things be, then I may very well have ignored your little group," Cesare hummed, looking rather pleased with himself.

"If your _father_ hadn't been so greedy and hadn't tried to subjugate the people, _we_ wouldn't have done anything to your fucking shit-sty of a family in the first place. Rodrigo made the first move—when he killed Giovanni Auditore all those years ago," Catherine spat, body shaking now. Whether if it was from the exhaustion, fear, anger, or all three, she couldn't be sure. She only wished her hands weren't tied so she could wrap them around that man's neck.

Cesare scoffed, "What does it matter who struck first, mm? My father might have started it, but now I aim to finish it. Your stronghold has fallen, and the Apple is mine. Once you divulge its secrets for us, even the infamous Ezio Auditore will not be able to best me."

Catherine waited a moment, and then chuckled, "Your father thought the same thing, and here you are, making the same mistake."

"Oh?" he inquired, brow raised while his smile remained.

"You let my husband _live_."

The man regarded Catherine for a long while, his expression faltering ever so slightly. Whether it had been the possibilities of the future, the lessons of the past, or the tone of her voice, the man was somewhat fazed by her words. At least it felt that way for the redhead, and she took a measure of joy from it. She also took pleasure knowing it was _truth_. Although she had no actual proof her husband lived, if the Borgia had not seen to it himself that Ezio was dead, then he was surely alive. Her husband would not fall so easily, and he had faced far worse than this. He'd danced with death all his life, nearly lost it once before, and if Cesare had not skewered her husband on his own sword, then no mere soldier would have. And if he was alive, then he would come for her, and he wouldn't stop until she was by his side—and Cesare's head was on a pike.

Just like they had done with Mario.

"Ha!" Lucrezia spoke up, leaning back, but never too far from her brother. Catherine couldn't help, but wonder as she looked to the bitch, letting her go on. "What do we have to fear from the 'great' Ezio Auditore? His pitiful army of mercenaries is gone, Mario, their leader, is dead, we have his precious Apple, and you are our prisoner. If he is your husband, he must surely love you quite a bit, and if he does truly love you, then why would he dare risk it?"

"He cannot resist rescuing his dear wife, trapped in our _Castelo_ ," the dark-haired man chuckled, his hesitance from before gone. "No, Ezio Auditore will come for his wife, and I will enjoy watching him despair as he fails yet again."

"We will see," Catherine replied, her gaze never wavering and burning hotter than the sun. If it gave Cesare any discomfort he, to his credit, didn't show it, and even met her gaze for a long while. He was the first to break it, looking out to the countryside and then to the woman next to him. They struck up a conversation, no longer taking notice of their company. That was fine by Catherine. It gave her all the time to continue glaring at them, letting her hatred stew. She contemplated many things, too; of perhaps wriggling her wrists free.

She shifted her arms some and did find she could slip the rope more than before. Not entirely, but it gave her hope, and so she began to shift this way and that. There was a sharp bit on her belt in the back, and so she tested that. Beside her, she felt Caterina shift, and glanced over. The woman was watching her sharply, no doubt feeling her own movements, and trying to understand. Or—no; it was concern. She was worried for her. Perhaps for her child, too. She could tell Caterina wanted to shake her head—to urge Catherine not to try; to not seek freedom. Not now. But how could she not? Cesare was right there. Prone for an attack. She could do it. She just had to get her hands free and she could strike him. She might even take the knife of the man who'd captured her and stab him in the throat. What did it matter he'd kill her in the next stroke? What did it matter even if she killed him instead or that an entire army was waiting outside with weapons that could cut her to pieces?

A hand on her arm made her pause, as did the press of Caterina's leg against her own.

Catherine looked to Micheletto, whom did not turn to face her, but she saw his focus on her from the corner of his eyes. He was watching. He knew what she planned. He could _sense_ it, even. She knew he could. He had his dagger there in his lap, in his hand, and it was ready to kill her at any moment. Or, rather, to subdue her in such a way she would be even more helpless than before.

She could not escape.

She could not make even the smallest move.

She was trapped.

For now.

Catherine forced her body to relax; forced herself to accept the situation. For now.

" _What_? You are leaving me already? Why?" Lucrezia suddenly cried out, rather pitifully.

Cesare sighed, stroking the side of her face, "I must, my dear Lucrezia. I still have the rest of _Romagna_ to conquer, and I cannot bring you with me for this venture. You and Micheletto must return to the _Castelo_. You will need to see to our new guest and ensure the Lady Auditore is… comfortable."

" _Just_ her? What of Caterina?" the blonde-haired woman scowled, her glare icy towards the other woman.

' _Yes, what of Caterina? What's going on?'_ the redheaded Auditore inquired as Cesare sighed again, although this time with exasperation.

"Because it seems Caterina is craftier than I gave her credit for, although she foolishly found herself trapped here trying to collude with my enemies," he hummed, almost snorting. "She surrendered to Valois and not _me_ , so she is under _his_ charge. As such, we must 'discuss' matters before I may take her as my own prisoner. A matter of _politics_ if you will, and so she will not be brought to _Belvedere_ … for now."

Lucrezia made an annoyed sound, "Of course. But I do not wish to leave you, Cesare."

"Ah, the battlefield—a _true_ battlefield—is no place for you, my dear. I need you to see to Lady Auditore. Keep an eye on her—and Giovanni's new brother. You know you are the only one I will trust with this."

"Tsk… very well. For _you_ ," she semi-huffed and brought his hand to her lips, kissing it gently. "Return safely, my dear brother. I will await your return."

"I look forward to it," he chuckled, kissing the back of her hand as well, and then turning his focus to the man next to the Lady Auditore. "Micheletto—you will ensure her safety?"

"Of course, my Lord," the man nodded, grip tightening on Catherine's arm, and Cesare nodded. As if on cue, the carriage came to a pause, and the leader of the Papal army opened the door, stepping outside. He turned, looking to Caterina.

"My Lady Sforza, it is time we depart. We will join your temporary warden in his carriage from here on out. Rejoice, though; you will bear witness to the beginning of a new age as we subdue the rebels here," he smiled, and while he was but a mortal man, all Catherine saw was a snake. She knew her fellow lady saw it, too, but Caterina kept her features passive and her will strong as she stepped out, all the while ignoring the cruel man. The door almost slammed shut behind them as they turned and left. The Lady Auditore hoped Caterina might look back so they could share one final look—to share silent words of strength and comfort—but the carriage began to move again, and the strong, fierce, redheaded Lady of Sforza was gone, left to her captors; a lioness among hyenas.

Catherine couldn't help feeling the same, though she was hardly a lion. Rather, while she had once been a wolf, now she was a sheep, surrounded by the hungry pack.

It was then the anger finally began to ebb; that the hopeless really set in, and she found any thoughts of escape were fleeting. No plan dared form. There was only a small, tiny prayer: that Ezio and her family had gotten out alive—and that they would somehow find a way to stop this man.

"Feel free to slap her if need be—she does not need a pretty face to birth a healthy child," Lucrezia hummed, eyes narrowing as she inspected the woman across from her.

"Careful, lest I not be able to help you with that little Apple of yours."

"I do not suppose you could teach her to be _silent_ without taking her tongue?"

"Don't worry, bitch. I don't intend to talk to _you_ beyond this: you better pray my husband is dead, because if he's not, then he'll be coming for me, and once I'm free… there's nowhere you, your bastard dog here, or your fucking piece of shit brother can hide that we won't find you, and when we do… you'll wish you were never born. Think on _that_ , why don't you? It's a long ride to _Roma_."

"Brave words from the _conquered_ ," the blonde hummed, but the redhead knew she had reached the woman. Irked her, at the very least, and that was something. She was the weaker link of the Borgia, and Catherine knew better than to let that notion slide by. So, she held onto it, keeping it in the back of her mind. She glanced to Micheletto, wishing he were an easier reader, but right now he was too tough a challenge. She could only wait and watch and learn. And then, when the time came, she would make her move. She would get free, be it by her own power or with Ezio's help. Not here, though. In _Roma_. There, she would find a way to escape and reunite with her family.

Catherine looked to the slowly moving countryside and let her heart soar back to the smoking embers of her home.

' _Ezio, Diana… everyone…. Please be alright. I'll see you again soon.'_

For now, though, it was a very long ride to the city.

 **-O-**

 **Monteriggioni, Italy**

The first thing he felt was pain—in his shoulder, and then in his side. A sharp pain through his left arm came next, and then there was the sensation of being dragged. His eyes popped open, revealing a darkened sky lit with tendrils of red light—fire, he realized. The dark sky was caused by smoke, which filled his nose and threatened to suffocate him. His arms were being pulled by two men, which he knew to be his own with their tattered, bloodied, and blue-colored garbs. Their expressions were of defeated men, too; hardly that of victorious soldiers tugging along a prize. It helped the reality of his memory sink in: of the brute who fell to his Hidden Blade; the crashing of the gate walls; the group of men—and a woman—who had waltzed in so plainly; Mario and his wife and then—the crack of thunder.

" _Stop_! I can walk!" Ezio Auditore shouted, his stomach churning. He wasn't going to vomit, but his growing fear made him want to.

Mario was dead. Shot—at the same time as himself. And his wife—she had been there. His Catherine had been captured along with Caterina. The Lady of _Forli_ he could understand, but his wife? Why? Why was she taken? And why had they killed Mario? Why had their leader goaded him? Invited him? And what of the Pope? Rodrigo? What had he told the man? Who had he been? He had known who the Assassins were and of the Apple. He mentioned blood shed between family—a Templar then? He'd known so much, and he had so much now. It was enough to make defeat nearly consume Ezio, but he couldn't give in. His wife needed him. He had to get her back. He _would_ get Catherine back.

"My Lord, look out! They are coming! Everyone, retreat to the _Villa_!" one of the soldiers that had dragged him shouted as he pointed at two red-armored Borgia goons that raced toward them, swords drawn. Ezio made to draw his own, but winced instead, a sharp stab going through his belly and the rest of him.

"I cannot fight like this," he rasped, more to himself than anyone else. He looked to a group of soldiers nearby. "Not alone. Come! Stand with me! We must keep them at bay!"

The soldiers obeyed, and the battle began. It was, perhaps, one of the most difficult fights of his life. His body hurt more than he realized, and he wondered more than once how he managed to keep moving. He was thankful his Hidden Blade's gun still worked, and it was he was lucky— his left and not right shoulder had been struck, allowing him to draw his blade to counter the second soldier's and the third's, too. The men were his greatest help, taking care of most of the goons who came for them and finishing them off rather quickly. Another time, his pride might have been wounded, but his actual wounds made him grateful. It made the flight up the stairs to the _Villa_ 's front gardens easier, although he could not help noting the rubble all around. _Monteriggioni_ was in ruins, and if the Borgia forces were still here, the danger was not yet over.

"Ezio!"

The Assassin's gaze shot to the right where he spotted his sister, still in good health. Her dress was tattered in places, and he could already see black and red smudges on her face and clothes, but she was alive. She was under attack, though, and he shot straight into a sprint as a soldier came upon her, dagger ready. She grabbed hold of his wrist, though, and held him off long enough for Ezio to descend upon the man and shove his sword through his gut. He lurched, gasping in pain, and then fell, soon to perish. More soldiers were all around, and so he worked quickly to get his little sister behind him and keep other soldiers at bay while his men helped.

"We must get to the Sanctuary!" he bellowed, parrying a sword and then slashing the soldier across his chest. His men handled the others as Claudia tugged his sleeve, urging him onwards. To his relief, more citizens joined them, stragglers who had finally managed to reach them. Yet, to his dismay, there were also more Borgia. He met them with the growing anger inside him, wondering all the while how it all went so wrong; how the enemy had managed to sneak up on them during the night; how they had destroyed them so easily; how he should have killed Rodrigo—how he had been so very _wrong_.

"Ezio, hurry!" Claudia called after he slew one of the last remaining guards, although more were sure to come. He nodded, racing after her and into the _Villa_ through the rear entrance. As he reached the study he saw a familiar face by the bookcase—his nephew, Giovanni. The relief he felt was greater than he thought it would be and he embraced the young man quickly. His mother did so as soon as he let go and held him tight. Giovanni latched onto his mother's dress and let out a sob. His body shook, and Ezio noticed his garbs were blood-stained. He'd been fighting, and his arm looked nearly totally red.

"You're hurt!" he gasped, but then shifted his gaze to the stairs where he saw a thief with an eyepatch moving as if to take off. "Stop! Wait for us and the others! We could use your aid!"

"We thought you had been killed, Ser Ezio!" he exclaimed as Claudia tended to her boy, checking his arm and then his face, tears brimming in her eyes. The thief glanced at them nervously before looking down the stairway. "Where does this passage lead?"

"To the north, outside the walls. Claudia, hurry—get Giovanni through," he ushered, placing a hand against her back to guide her in along a few remaining citizens and mercenaries. The thief expressed his surprise at its existence, but Ezio ignored it as he stepped on a block on the ground, elevated higher than the rest. The door clicked and began to move. "Did mother make it through?"

"Let me through. I must go help the troops!" the thief called, to which Ezio was grateful as he took the wooden latch of the entrance and set it into place. It would help ensure that no one could follow them.

"Yes—grandmother went through. Diana did, too, with Annetta at the beginning. They are safe, but Aunt and Federico and Father and Mario—they—they…!" Giovanni began, his voice trembling now. Claudia held him close and he wrapped his arm around her waist as if his life depended on it.

"I… Mario is dead. They killed him," he replied, unable to meet their eyes as they both gasped.

His sister bit her lip, "What of… what of the others?"

"They took Catherine… I don't know of the others. We'll have to find them later. We can't stay here," he replied quickly, urging them to go on. They hesitated, though, and he couldn't keep the sorrow from his face as he whispered, "I'm sorry. I couldn't save them… but we must go. Now."

"Uncle," the young man whimpered, half-choking on a sob. God, he was still so young. Too young. He shouldn't have had to suffer this.

"Hush, my sweet boy. He's right. We must go. Quickly. We don't have time, and your grandmother and cousin need us," Claudia spoke gently, squeezing his hand, and pressing him onwards. This time, he did obey, racing down the stairs with them as quick as they could. There, Ezio found a face he had longed to see: his mother, at the rear of the crowd by the statue of Altair. She was sending them through, acting as the leader in his stead. He did not hesitate to embrace her, though, kissing her brow, and thanking God for her safety, although she, too, was dirty and had cuts of her own.

"Oh, Ezio," Maria gasped, seeing his blood stains. He caught her hand before she could touch it, though, smiling with strain, but also gentleness.

"I will live, but we must hurry. We can't linger. Help Giovanni—he's wounded worse than I. Help lead the others through as well. I will ensure we can't be followed," he spoke firmly, and he was glad they did not argue; not even Giovanni, whom looked ready to collapse. He must have held the entryway the entire time without rest. The boy was, without doubt, brave, and Ezio prayed he had only lost his Uncle this day.

Deep down, though, Ezio knew it wasn't so.

He hadn't seen the Captain, but if Ottavio was not here, and neither was Federico, it was highly likely they were gone.

The thought ate at him, and so he pushed it away as he spared a final glance to the entry of the wide room—to the stairway leading to his ruined, broken home—and squeezed through to the tunnel behind the statue of Altair.

 **-O-**

Ezio cursed as they finally made it out of the gated exit of the tunnels, stumbling out onto the rocks and thin grass of the rough terrain the city walls had been installed on. He spat a bit of blood out, a pursuing Borgia dog having gotten a lucky strike at his lip. It stung, but not as much as the sight of his home behind them—a tower was lit on fire, and soon to burn to the ground; the _Villa_ was in ruins; walls were crumbling. The Borgia had destroyed them, their city, their life; everything. It was all gone, and their only reprieve was that north end of the countryside was free of the enemy. It was a clear path to safety, wherever their people might go. Many had already gone their own ways—hopefully to some place safe.

He worried for his family, however. Giovanni was ready to collapse—it was only with the help of mercenaries that had joined them that he could walk easily. His mother and sister were alright, even after the dangerous venture to freedom, but they weren't safe yet. Already there was word of the Borgia infantry circling this way. How they knew to, Ezio couldn't say, and he only imagined they intended to ravage the entire countryside and ensure their work was done. That was the infantry, though. The others—those that had staked their challenge to him, killed Mario, and taken his wife—he suspected would go elsewhere. Back to the Pope, perhaps. To _Roma_.

If that was where his wife was, he would go. That was without question. If the bastard who took her was there, too, all the better, but he had to rescue Catherine first. Her, and his unborn child.

"Papa! _Papa_!" a voice called and Ezio's head shot towards the sound. Annetta was there, not far off, with Diana right by her side. The little girl's eyes were pooled with tears, her face dirty, but free of harm. She wrenched free of the maid's grip as she bolted towards her father. He met her half way, pulling her up into his arms and holding her close. His eyes to let loose his own tears, but he held them back as he buried his face into her hair. She was alive and well, and he hated that he would have to leave her again. It was for her own safety, though. He couldn't withstand losing her, too. It would break him, and so he kissed her gently on the brow.

"You must leave this place—all of you," he spoke suddenly, turning to face them. He handed Diana to Annetta, forcing himself to ignore his child's sobs and her reaching hands. He looked to Claudia. "Take Mother and Giovanni and Diana to _Firenze_. We still have allies there. You will all be safe. And you, soldier—get me a horse!"

Diana sobbed, "Papa, don't go! Where's Mama!?"

"You are not coming with us? Where are you riding?" his sister demanded, following him as he approached the soldier that had done as he asked.

"To _Roma_. The Borgia are there—and that is where they will take Catherine. I will find her and bring her back, and then the Borgia will _pay_ ," he snarled, swinging up onto the stallion. Before he could take off, though, he felt a hand lay atop of his. When he looked down, he found the eyes of his mother, firm and steady and burning with a fire he thought was a mirror of his own.

"Go, my son. Save Catherine and destroy them… but remember for whom we Assassins fight," she bade him, squeezing his hand. "And come back to us. Swear you will."

Ezio looked up, right into the anguished eyes of his daughter, "I will. I promise."

" _Papa!"_

His heart ached, but the Lord Auditore kicked his heels and spurred his horse into a gallop. He sealed himself from the cries of his daughter, knowing this was what he had to do. She would be safe with his family, and they would be safe in _Firenze_. He would go to _Roma_ and make things right. He would mend his error, and he would ensure no Borgia, or anyone would ever harm his family again.

The thought kept him going for hours on end, even as the sunlight long faded, and the city fell far away from his sight. The echoes of his daughter's cries kept him upright in his seat even as the aches of his body sapped his strength. The sight of his Uncle, put down like a wounded horse, and his beautiful Catherine in the claws of his enemies kept his heels kicking and his lungs shouting for his horse to go as far and fast as it could. The thought of his family and city, broken and burning, forced him to keep roaring even as his voice failed and his legs would not move, and his grip faltered.

For all his worth, his strength did fail, though his will remained. Darkness came to claim him as it did the sky, but still the fire within him burned. Consciousness left him, but in its wake a thought lingered:

 _'Catherine, I'm coming.'_

* * *

 **03** – _End_

* * *

 ** _TMWolf:_** _So, like I said. Reckoning is going to flip between Catherine and Ezio, either between chapters or within them. It's important to see both sides, although Act I is predominantly 'Cat still, as if the story overall, but we do get to see our handsome boy's side, too! Sadly, things are going too good for either side :( 'Cat's about to go through a whole lot of crazy, and she'll be going up and down in her psyche, which is going to take a toll. Pregnancy hormones aren't going to help, either. Ezio will have his own problems, too. But you'll have to see what those are :')_

 _Oh, and little note: Caterina did_ not _come to the Castel until March of either 1500 or 1501. I'm not positive when, as I've had trouble finding the date. First, she was in the company of the French, as she surrendered to him, not Cesare, being that the French could not keep women as a prisoner of war. So she went with him for a while before Cesare got her. She was also brought to Belverde Palace and not the Castel first, but when she tried to escape she got moved (also the Pope accused her of trying to poison him in 1499). So that's a thing. So Catherine will be the main prisoner in the Castel for now, and, sadly, we're not going to see poor Caterina for a while :c Best of luck, Lady of Forli... she is, supposedly, not treated well by the French guy..._

 _Anyways, things are moving, and both Catherine and Ezio are going to end up in Roma pretty soon._

 _Now, I am... shaking things up from the game a bit, but I'll go over that more later for now, let me know your thoughts and wait patiently for the next update!_


	4. The Jungle

**TMWolf:** _Alright, it's update time! Also, I have been tired and probably was while editing this so please alert me to any blaring mistakes I missed. It's been a rough few weeks, although we did adopt our new family member: Axel! A 7 month old Husky who is fitting right in and stealing our hearts. He's super adorable and so worth the wait we had to endure for him hehe. Anyways, updating now, though, and hope people enjoy the Borgia still being dicks, and something Chronos didn't do before but will this time around (as I mentioned earlier) ;)_

 _Reviews... well, no guest reviews so everyone should have gotten a reply! Y'all are the best and I seriously love reading what you have to say, and appreciate any criticism or pointing out errors you do! It's a huge help and I just love to hear your opinions or any guesses as to what will happen... although this time around there's no big underlying plot reason to figure out xD So do let me know what you think and I'll be happy to reply! :)_

 _The song for this chapter is... from ZAYDE WOLF or something or other and their song The Jungle. Not quite exact fitting with lyrics, but I thought the title totally fit, haha._

 _Now onto the story!_

* * *

 **04** – _The Jungle_

* * *

 **January 6, 1500**

 **Rome, Italy**

For what it was worth, _Roma_ was actually a very beautiful city.

It was a shame Catherine felt no joy at the sight of it, not even with it being her first visit—at least in this time. She could recall vaguely, from a former life that seemed almost like a dream sometimes, but was oh-so very real, that she had visited this place. Only, the year hadn't been the fifteen-hundred, but rather in the two-thousands. Her company, like-wise, had not been that of the bitch Lucrezia Borgia and her bastard brother's dog, Micheletto, but her mother and her side of the family. An uncle, if she remembered right, and some of her cousins. It had been their first stop on their visit to Europe and ultimately their ancestral family home—the very same that housed the artifact that would bring her here to this time—and the modern-day buildings mixed with the ancient ruins had been a glorious sight to behold. However, it was nothing compared to the true, original splendor of the Italian city. Yet, her first time here had also been far more joyous; surrounded by those who cared about her and wanted to her be amazed by the glory of the city; to fully enjoy a much-needed vacation.

This visit, though, had not even a sliver of joy to it. The city was not a vacation spot for an innocent, American tourist. It was a prison for an Assassin of _Italia_ , and the cage for bait to lure the infamous Ezio Auditore.

A crowd formed to the rear of the carriage and was growing slightly larger as curious citizens wondered who would emerge. No doubt they hoped for the illustrious Cesare or even the Pope, but they seemed equally pleased at the sight of Lucrezia. She held her head high, chest put out just a little more than usual, and smiled proudly. Micheletto remained his dark, brooding self, keeping a firm hand latched around Catherine's arm. Her hands were still bound, although now in front of her. Guards joined them, these one clad in a much more robust armor; thicker, darker, and more elegant. They were also pikemen and a few swordsmen. A bloated regiment, if the redhead did say so herself, but almost flattering, in a way. All of them here, for her; for the show.

"Citizens of _Roma_ —I give you a prize from _Monteriggioni_ , yet another rebel city conquered and put in their place by your beloved Cesare! Yet another step towards a peaceful, united _Italia_!" the woman sang, and a cheer rang out. Catherine couldn't help hating them, even if it wasn't really their fault. They were just naïve. Ignorant. Complacent in their lush lives here in the city; never conquered by their "beloved" Cesare. At least, not be sword and fire and cannon. No, he and his father and cursed family had done them in with politics and pretty words, and they ate it up.

She envied such innocence.

"Come then, time to take you to your new home. You get the honor of seeing where my new nephew will be staying," the woman smiled, oh so sweetly as she went by. If not for the dog with his fangs to her throat and the guards right on her heels, Catherine would have gladly wrung her neck.

Her new _nephew_ 's home? Hah. Like she would let that happen. No, she would find a way to escape. She wouldn't let her child grow up here, in the hands of the enemy.

Which, in some way, was a shame. The place _was_ beautiful. The bridge alone to the massive fortress was made with some of the best architecture she had seen, and she knew Leonardo da Vinci. The stone appeared ancient, but remained in good shape, and perhaps ten to twenty feet apart on either side stood statues of angels, ever vigilant and radiant in the sunlight all along the length of the bridge. She could not help but wonder, though, if they were watching out for her in this moment, or were her wardens, too? Although, it hardly seemed needed with the immenseness of the fortress before them. The intimidation of it alone was enough to dissuade any attackers—or potential escapees. The countless guards positioned by each statue and walking along the main entryway didn't help, either. Certainly, any escape from the tall, foreboding stone walls seemed neigh impossible. Even with a long look Catherine didn't spot any good exits, save to dive from dangerous heights to the murky water below, something she would be hard pressed to risk if she was kept here too long. Not to mention she'd have to swim all the way to the other side of the bridge with the walls around the moat looking too difficult to scale.

It wasn't a good situation, but she refused to surrender.

"Welcome back, my Lady," a guard at the entryway spoke, bowing his head politely to the blonde-haired woman. Both guards looked at the redhead, confusion flickering over their expression.

"A new guest of Cesare's. She is not to leave—for her own safety. Do let the other guards know, will you?" she smiled, her eyes glancing at Catherine, whom refused to let anything show. The men regarded her for another moment, and then nodded.

"It shall be done."

"Good. Come, Micheletto. The maids should have prepared a room for her thanks to the messenger we sent," the blonde hummed as they trudged on into an open area—a stable, by the looks of things. Not many horses were present at the moment, but there were plenty of stalls to tie more and both hay and water troughs were already prepared. Lucrezia led them towards another gate, also guarded. She paused to regard the red-headed woman coolly. "I would rather you thrown in the dungeon like the scum you are… but the child you carry requires something more… civil."

"You're too kind," Catherine snorted, although she couldn't deny that was a relief. If she _had_ been put into the dungeon, she would have greatly feared for her unborn baby. Never mind whatever sickness she could contract; the child would suffer far worse. At least in a proper chamber her son or daughter could be born healthy. And the longer _she_ could be healthy, the better her chance of escape.

"You would do well to be _grateful_ for my brother's kindness. If not for the child you would be left to rot in the dungeon after letting the guards do as they pleased with you."

"You Borgia are quite the cheerful bunch, aren't you?" she hummed, withholding the curse and snarl she really wanted to unleash. It helped the days-long ride in the carriage had allowed her anger to cool. It was hardly quenched, but it was under control. She could think more clearly and with less emotion, and she knew losing herself to her sorrow and rage would only end badly. It was a weakness she could not afford to let them even _see_ , and so she'd steeled herself the first night in the carriage. She let them think her casualness was sincere, and that there wasn't an inferno waiting to burn them to ash as soon as she could. She refused to let herself think they were completely fooled, though. Micheletto's grip had not faltered the entire trip, and so she had good idea he knew her true intentions—that he could sense the danger lingering within her. Hewould be her greatest challenge at the moment, which made Lucrezia the weaker thread to pull.

She was a strong, intelligent woman Catherine had to admit. Though she seemed flighty at times, she was conniving in her own right and enjoyed pushing buttons. She liked to get beneath the skin of both the redhead and the men around her; teasing them, even. None dared touch her, and no doubt that gave her a sense of pleasure. She enjoyed the notion Catherine couldn't touch her, too, the redhead had noticed. The sneers. Smirks. Coy smiles. She was practically intoxicated with pleasure as she lorded over her prisoner, and no doubt it would continue. No doubt she would come to taunt her; remind her of her predicament.

Good.

Catherine could use that.

Hubris was a power double-edged sword, after all.

"My lady, perhaps we should summon a doctor as well?" Micheletto suddenly spoke up, earning surprise from both women. Lucrezia looked over Catherine, gaze lingering on the few red spots on her garments. The wounds had healed up, but her body still ached and had begun to bruise badly, tanned skin now purple and black. Her stomach was spared, but the rest of her didn't look too good. She imagined her face wasn't much better, which made her glad to not be terribly vain.

"Mmm... perhaps we should. How far along are you?" the woman inquired as she moved onwards again, passing through a stone corridor and up a flight of stairs.

"I'm not sure. Could be a few weeks to a few months," the redhead shrugged. She grinned, "Guess you best plan for nine months of good care."

The woman glared over her shoulder, "Do not try my patience or press your luck, Auditore. Once the child is born and you are no longer of use, you will wish you had taken this chance to grovel."

"And you'll wish you had begged for my forgiveness," the redhead hummed right on back. Lucrezia stopped at the top of the stairs and laughed.

"Ha! Bold words for a prisoner. You _really_ think you will escape? That your husband will save you?"

Catherine didn't miss a beat, her gaze steady, "Yes. He will."

A flurry of emotions crossed the woman's face, the most prominent was a mixture of surprise and confusion. Catherine could only expect it was because the woman had never experienced the kind of love they had—true, _real_ love. The kind where you gave the other your very being and knew, without doubt, they would never fail you. She had defied a god to be with her husband, and already he had dared to face a man who wished to _be_ a god to be with her. The Borgia were but mortals, and mortals died far easier than a deity.

Lucrezia's lip twitched as if to speak, but whatever words she hoped to summon succumbed to silence. She turned back around and led them further into the _Castel_. The stone walls remained, but while before they had been barren, they were now adorned with some of the most elaborate and beautiful decorations Catherine had ever seen. Tapestries ran along the walls, accompanied by portraits or mirrors. A thick, red rug ran along the entire floor, and a variety of tables and decorative wood pieces or marble busts could be found along the hallway. Such ornaments continued even on the second floor, their venture leading up a winding staircase. There, she was observed by yet more portraits, statues, and even a cabinet with trinkets inside before being stopped in front of a large, wooden door with a single handle and keyhole. Lucrezia pulled the key from a pocket in her dress, twisted it in the lock, and pressed the door open.

Catherine had to admit, the room was better than she expected. It was similar to the guests room at the _Villa_ , albeit a bit smaller and less decorated There was a bed, though, cushiony enough for a woman with child, and a desk perhaps to write or simply sit at. A vanity mirror accompanied it, and across the room was a dresser for clothing. A row of windows set on the far side, but they were above her head. If she tried hard, she might have squeezed through the small opening, but the iron bars would prevent any hopes of that. There were no portraits or tapestries, but there was a rug on the floor.

"You can release her now—but do keep the knife ready. She is a savage, after all," Lucrezia snorted, remaining rather wisely behind Micheletto. The Borgia dog use the same knife to cut her bonds, finally freeing her hands after days of being tied together. Catherine gently rubbed her raw wrists, stepping towards the bed.

"Oh, you're simply jealous I'm wearing comfortable pants and you're in a pretentious, gaudy dress that's really only good for making men wonder if your breasts are going to give them a show or not," she smiled sweetly.

"Watch your tongue!" the woman snarled, suddenly coming forward and raising her hand as if to slap her. Catherine merely raised a brow as she side-stepped.

"You'd strike a woman with child? And you call _me_ the savage!" she mock-gasped before sitting down on the bed. She snickered as she looked to her watch dog. "You can put that toothpick away now. I won't escape. Yet."

"If you wish to continue having a doctor and our maid tend to you, I would advise you learn to hold your tongue," Lucrezia sneered, though smirked a moment later. "Perhaps it would do you well to skip dinner tonight. After all, you have had quite the journey. No doubt your belly would not be able to suffer such delicacies. Do enjoy your stay, Lady Auditore. Let us give her time to settle in then, shall we, Micheletto?"

"As you wish, my Lady," the man bowed his head, glanced at the redhead, whom raised her brow back. The blonde-haired Borgia had headed off already, and, after a second's pause, he, too, followed.

The door closed behind them with a loud _thunk_ , and then the lock rattled and clicked. The redhead knew it was silly to bother trying, but she pushed off the bed anyways and attempted to turn the knob. It didn't budge in the slightest, locked tight. Of course.

Catherine sighed, rubbing her face. She stayed there at the wooden door—just inches standing between her and her freedom—for a good, long minute, and then finally changed course for the vanity. There, she winced. Her face looked _terrible_. There were cuts she hadn't noticed before, although they had already begun to scab. Her cheek and lip were swollen, and she could see a bruise on her brow. She looked dirty, too, dark smudges in more places than she liked. She lifted her shirt next and hissed at the sight of the dark array of colors—black, blue, purple, and even a sickening brown. The guards had beat her a lot worse than she thought, but at least her belly had been spared.

"How you doing in there, huh? Probably not too happy with me right now. Sorry about that," she spoke softly, touching at her lower abdomen. There was nothing to feel just yet, but there was comfort thinking that the child could sense her. Then again, the child would probably ignore her after she'd done the same thing over the last few days and particularly in the battle. She'd have to be more careful from now on, but she could work around it. She'd managed during Diana's pregnancy up until the last few months, so she had time.

She only hoped she had enough.

Catherine inhaled deeply as she looked up into her reflection. She couldn't help thinking she looked worse the second time around. Bags were thick under her eyes and she felt the weariness now. The anger rose up again in that moment, and the sorrow along with it. Memories followed the flow, the first being of her beloved Mario. Her eyes burned, and it was hard to breathe. She held back her sob and instead slammed a fist into the desk. It didn't crack, but by God did she wish it had.

How had things come to this? How it all gone so wrong?

She wiped away the tears before they could fall and looked to her reflection again. She forced her gaze to become hard, although tears continued to form. She ignored them this time, pulling her focus from the memories of the past. They could only be used to fuel her rage and give her strength, not weaken her. She had to keep strong for her child and find a way out of here, be it her own power, or to hold out until Ezio got here.

"Just you wait, little one. Your father's coming. We're not going to let them have you—I swear it," she spoke firmly, resting her hand on her belly once more.

She turned away from the mirror then, eyes roving the room. She didn't expect the doctor or maid would come anytime soon, so she supposed it was time to get familiar with her new abode. She was, after all, going to be here for a while.

 **-O-**

 **January 6, 1500**

 **Rome, Italy**

Ezio groaned as he came to, the pain from his last waking moments duller than he remembered. He was also not on a horse and not on the ground where he was certain he had fallen. He didn't know how long it had been since then, although he should be still a few days from _Roma_. He was in a house now, though; nothing too grand or splendid, but comfortable and well-built. It wasn't the style he was entirely accustomed to, but it was of a country-side make as opposed to a more decorated city style.

Movement in the corner of his eyes turned his head, and he found a woman hunched over a bowl—filled with water, he noted—as she wrung out a rag she held. She looked perhaps in her thirties, but her face had a touch of youthfulness. In another life, he might have considered her pretty, but she held no candle to the splendor of his wife, the memory of which rekindled the fire within his belly. He made to move as she sat beside him, wiping at something on his—bare—abdomen, but she pushed back down on his shoulder. It was his wounded one, eliciting a short hiss from his lips. She at least looked somewhat apologetic as she bade him to calm down.

"The pain will end soon," she spoke softly, her smile as gentle as her voice.

He glanced around again, "Where have you brought me?"

"Nowhere, Mister. A man left you here," she shrugged and finally let him move. He shifted towards the edge, mind already working quickly.

"Did he say anything?"

"Only this: you are to meet Mister Machiavelli in front of the _Mausoleo di Augusto_ ," she replied, and the answers fell into place. He did not resist as she touched his shoulder again, urging him up. "Let me help you get dressed."

"The same man who brought me here gave me these clothes?" he asked, to which she confirmed with a nod. Ezio was, of course, eternally grateful. He had no proper clothes since escaping his home, and he'd lost Altair's armor as well. He regretted that deeply, the armor having meant a great deal. Perhaps one day he could return and reclaim it—he doubt the armor could fall so easy after all it had endured—but for now the pristine, white garbs would do.

He could not help noticing the outer armor was uncannily similar to both his Father's and Altair's armor. It was layered in such a way to be both protective, yet thin and flexible for movement. The fit was perfect as well, hugging his body in all the right places. The sleeves were tighter than he was used to, but were also flattering. His collar popped out perfectly, with dashes of a vibrant red to add some flare. The hood was just like his other garbs, the tip shaped not unlike a beak and covering his unkempt hair well. The belt fit snug around his waist, both sides latching into an almost overly large metal buckle adorned with the Assassin's mark and resting atop his red waist-sash. A hook for the blade left to him was given as well, which he readily set in place. The ends of the tunic fell all the way down to his boots. His pants were a bit looser than his top but tucked into the leather just fine. And to finish the look—a bracer etched with the Assassin symbol and a bit of Italian flare in the metal. It was hard, but light, and the Hidden Blade looked sharp. All too befitting an Assassin.

He felt a bit more like himself, and just a little bit impressive. The woman certainly looked impressed, anyways.

"Thank-you, my Lady, for all you have done for me. I will not forget it. Should you need help, seek out Machiavelli and tell him the Auditore owe you a debt. I will make good on it," he smiled, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss. He swore he saw her cheeks flush a little as her smile grew wide.

"I pray I do not need such a favor, but I will remember it. I wish you a safe journey, wherever it takes you, Mister," she replied, and then he walked to the door.

The world waiting outside for him was very different and yet familiar. The ancient ruins just down the road were unusual, but he had seen them before. Grassy hills with a busy road ran through, and in fenced areas he could see fields plowed and crops growing. Further beyond was a city, the size of which seemed unfathomable, and yet there he was. He supposed he should not have been so surprised, however, being he had been here not so long ago.

It seemed, despite his falter, he had made it.

" _Roma_."

"Yes," the woman's voice came, and he turned to find her behind him. "Or what is left of it since the Borgia came to power."

The name made the fire within him flare a little hotter.

"And the _Mausoleo_?"

"Unfortunately, you cannot see it from here."

Ezio looked in the distance and gestured, "How about from the top of the church?"

"Mm yes, but the stairs up are closed," she frowned with a shrug.

He chuckled, "That should not be a problem. Thank-you, again. Farewell, my good woman."

She spared him a small, final smile before returning inside, leaving the Assassin to the _Roma_ countryside. He looked to the church, noting it should be an easy climb. _Should_ being the important word. Despite the lessened pain, the ache remained, and it felt as though he was not at full strength still. He could perhaps wield a blade, but a climb might be difficult. If he could perhaps get a drought of medicine it would numb things enough and give him the time to heal, but he needed a Doctor—and coin. That, or try to convince them to take pity. The latter was not likely, but he would try.

First, though: he needed to find a procurer of medicine.

Thankfully, his Vision allowed him to scan the crowd in the dirt road, letting him discern between the denizens and his target, who glowed gold in the darkened world. There was his doctor, and so he set forth, though paid heed to the eyes that followed him. To his relief, they did not linger long, and he made it to the dark-clothed man, his face covered by one of their disturbing masks. He could still see their eyes, and in the them he couldn't help noticing a flicker of recognition. Ezio kept his guard up as he approached.

"Greetings. I require medicine," he stated, plain and simple, and waited. The doctor regarded him for a moment, humming thoughtfully, and then gestured to have him step closer.

"Come, let me look," he mused, shifting Ezio's wounded arm this way and that and noting the wince he could not prevent. "Someone your age cannot recover from a wound like this with medicine. Here is something to dull the pain, however. You will heal over time."

"My thanks…," the Assassin replied, bowing his head. He paused, waiting for the doctor to go on, but he did not. He met the man's gaze. "You give your medicine out freely?"

"Not to all… but yours was paid in advance. I was told to aid a man dressed in white."

"I see… I owe someone a great debt then. Thank-you, again," Ezio spoke, holding up to the bottle, and went onwards again. With a quick pop of the cork, he downed the vial's fluid, grimacing at the taste. It worked quickly, and by the time he had reached the church's courtyard, his arm felt almost as good as new. At the very least he could climb now.

"'Someone my age'? _Jerk_ ," he scoffed once he was out of ear shot. He was only _forty-one_! He was still in his prime! His _wife_ certainly didn't think he was old! Of course, he couldn't be truly mad at the man, but still. His pride didn't appreciate the jab, and so he couldn't help but smirk a little as he came up to the church's front.

It was no different than any climb before, and, seeing the coast was clear, he quickly ascended to the top. He could climb plenty well _for his age_ —even if he did feel a bit of protest in his back for it. He made it all the way to the tower, however, and his pride managed to appease itself as he looked out at the great expanse of _Roma_. It was a new view for him, the former having been from the _Vaticano_ district, and it was certainly different. Far less posh and pristine; humbler and not unlike his home of _Firenze_. Of course, nothing compared to his birthplace, but it left him with a sense of nostalgia—one he didn't let himself linger with for long. From there, he leaped down into a cart of hay he'd spotted, though refrained from exiting right away as a particular instinct flared. It was the same sense that had helped him escape danger and survive countless battles—a "sixth sense" Catherine had called it. It only appeared near a guard, and so he waited.

"Word has gone out that a peasant is resisting arrest," a voice spoke with a sneer. "We will show him how things operate under the Borgia."

Ezio withheld his growl despite the protests of the fire brewing within him. Machiavelli was waiting for him, and he knew where to go now that he'd spotted the _Mausoleo_ from above, but his heart refused to let the words slide by. The men worked for the Borgia, the lady who'd helped him had mentioned the city suffered for their presence, and now a poor denizen was to be punished for simply resisting arrest?

No.

Ezio Auditore was an Assassin at heart, but above all, he was a good man. His wife had made sure of that, and she would have wanted him to help. Even if he ignored it to quicken her rescue, she would have told him he should have.

So he did.

 **-O-**

Things were worse in the city than Ezio realized. In just a few hours' time he had seen their cruelty. The guards had tried to kill a man simple for trying to take down his hanged wife, who had done nothing wrong but been unable to protect her dignity from a vile man. He was grieving and wished only to do right by his innocent wife, and yet they wanted to kill him for it. He could not clear he guards of blame for following orders, though. They were as guilty as the man who had given the command—the bastard butcher, whom he had taken pleasure in ending the life of. He felt no remorse when he'd struck the man down with his hidden blade, and certainly none as he fought off his guards during his escape.

The Assassin only lamented he had not come sooner—and that the butcher would not be the only one to have to die. If the Borgia already had the loyalty of a butcher, there were bound to be more denizens under their flag. It was bad enough they had the entire city guard, but people of the city? _Roma_ was a death trap as it stood now, and anyone could be his enemy. Catherine was here, though, somewhere, among these snakes, and he had to find her. He needed help, though, and it was for that reason he focused his gaze upon the man standing in front of the tree in the courtyard of the _Mausoleo_ , unaware of his presence until he suddenly turned, brow raising.

"Ezio. What a surprise to see you here," he mused, without looking at all as his words suggested. Yet, the Assassin sensed no sarcasm, so he frowned, his confusion palpable.

"I thought you had sent for me?"

"Never," the man replied at once, and Ezio only felt a little hurt by it. "News of the _Villa_ attack has spread across the city. We were certain you were dead."

"Not yet. I am still very much alive," the Assassin smirked, but Machiavelli did share in the sentiment as he jabbed a finger at his comrade.

"The Borgia must not discover that you escaped them."

"I'm afraid I will have to disappoint you, my friend," Ezio rumbled. He went on, his voice grave, before the man could make a retort, "They took Catherine."

Machiavelli narrowed his eyes, "Catherine? But they killed Mario. Why would they take your wife— _alive_?"

"I'm not sure, but… it may be… _that_."

Niccolo look at him sharply, "Her abilities—her use of the Clock."

"Rodrigo knew of it, and the man who attacked, he… he has the Apple."

" _What!?_ " Machiavelli bellowed, earning a few stares that quickly looked away as he gestured for Ezio to follow. "You are certain? Your eyes did not lie to you?"

"I saw it—just before he killed my uncle. He has it," the Assassin scowled, fingers clenching into a tight fist.

"This is not good, Ezio. If that man has the Apple…"

"I fear they wish to use Catherine to determine its secrets. Rodrigo knows Catherine has the will to use such artifacts, and he's seen what it does to those who can't. They may force her to endure its power for them—to learn the secrets of the goddess Minerva I spoke of and those like her."

"We cannot allow that to happen. If they harness its power…" the man rasped, shaking his head. "This is not good."

"Machiavelli," Ezio spoke, causing the man to stop and look back, brow raised again. "Catherine is with child."

His fellow Assassin's eyes widened, and then returned to their usual, calculated stance. His lips pressed together firmly, arms clasped behind his back as he always did when he spoke. He looked like a fierce strategist there, clad in his regal garb. He was certainly worthy of being a fighter of the people, and Ezio could not help the sense of regret he felt at having not listened to the man and for thinking his outrage unreasonable. He had been _right_. He should have killed Rodrigo—then perhaps none of this would have happened.

"Machiavelli, I—"

"Do you know where they took her?" he asked, moving once more, hands still clasped behind him.

"No. I don't. Not yet. I suspect somewhere in the _Vaticano_ , close to where the Vault is. I don't know where specifically, though. I need to find out— _now_."

"I am afraid it will not be so easy," Machiavelli hummed and held up a hand to stop Ezio's reply. "The Borgia's power is strong here. More than any Templar's grip you have faced—even more than _Venezia_. They control everything. Their spies are everywhere. And the soldiers in the _Vaticano_ are not the typical brand you have fought before.

He motioned back the way they had come, "If anything, I might wager she be in the _Castel Sant'Angelo_ , but it is only a guess. And if it _is_ true, then you stand little chance to infiltrate it as you are; weaponless, no resources, and few allies to speak of."

"I _won't_ leave her here with the Borgia!" Ezio snapped, but the man only gave him a slight look.

"I did not _ask_ you to. My words are only to make you understand the task you are undertaking, and _that_ was only the beginning. This is not just about rescuing your wife, but also retrieving the Apple. Neither can remain in Borgia hands, but you can do nothing as you are now."

"You're right," the Assassin nodded, and again he saw surprise on Machiavelli's face. It was not something Ezio considered lightly, and it was an idea that had lingered since he followed the Borgia guard. It was not, perhaps, the most well thought out, but it was a reasonable—and advantageous—goal all the same. "I can't help Catherine like this—in this place. Not yet. The enemy is everywhere and I have no allies, as you said. And even if I got her back today, we could not return to home. We could not go anywhere without risking our enemies tracking us down once more and finishing us off. No, even if we escaped, we would have no peace—not while the Borgia remain in power. They _must_ be taken down."

"I do not recall such bold words at your _Villa_ ," the man mused, though not out of amusement or even spite. Rather, a smile dared to tug his lip upwards.

"How could we have known they would reach us so quickly? That they would kill Mario? That they would take my wife? The Borgia—that _man_ ushered me a challenge, and now I will answer it. I will rescue my wife, and we will free this city. I have already seen the horrors of the Borgia—the oppression these people feel. The killing of innocents. If I hope to stop them and save my wife and ensure my family never suffers again, we must rise up against them and the Templars who serve them."

"I admit, I am glad to hear you say so, but be warned, Ezio: Rodrigo surrounds himself with snakes and murderers. Even his daughter Lucrezia has been sharpened into one of his most artful weapons… but she pales in comparison to the man behind the _Villa_ attack.

Machiavelli gestured for the Assassin to follow him again, "He is ambitious, ruthless, and cruel beyond imagining. The laws of man mean nothing to him. He murdered his own _brother_ to take power. He knows neither danger nor fatigue. Those who do not fall by his sword clamor to join his ranks. The powerful Orsini and Colonna families have been brought to kneel at his feet and the King of France stands at his side."

"Give me his name."

"Cesare, head of the Papal armies," Niccolo replied grimly, an expression that Ezio could not help but copy. His frown deepened as his fellow Assassin asked, "What does he intend to do with his power? What drives the man? That, I still do not know. But, Ezio, Cesare has set his sights on all of _Italia_ , and at this rate he will have it."

"Is that admiration I hear in your voice?" the Assassin snorted, not entirely sure he was being sarcastic. He certainly did not find such a quality admirable—not after all this Cesare had done.

"He knows how to exercise his will. A rare virtue in the world today," his comrade hummed, pausing once more and facing the Auditore. "If you are a man of your word—if you mean to truly rise against the Borgia and make them and their allies your enemies… then you face a neigh impossible task."

Ezio's fingers clenched tight as his voice grew hard, "Nothing will stop me from saving Catherine and protecting my family. Even if I must do this alone—even if it meant facing God himself, I would fight the Borgia, and I will not stop until she and all of _Italia_ are free."

"It would seem," Niccolo hummed, lip tugging upwards once more as he regarded the Assassin, "Cesare is not the only one to wield his virtue. But, you will not get far as you are. Here. A proper Assassin could use a sword to go with his Blade."

Ezio raised his brow when a coin pouch was held out to him. He took it and glanced to his right, noting they have conveniently stopped by a blacksmith. He had a feeling it was not just by chance.

"You will help me then."

"As much as I can… but this is only a start. Now, arm yourself, Ezio Auditore. There is much for us to discuss," Niccolo smiled, and, for perhaps the first time since the day his home had fallen, Ezio felt a true flicker of hope.

* * *

 **04** – _End_

* * *

 ** _TMWolf:_** _So, as I said, Retribution (btw I DID change the story title. Realized Reckoning didn't mean what I wanted it to mean for the story sooooooo changed it up xD) follows a bit of a different pattern than Chronos. We are going to see a LOT more of Ezio's POV/side of the story, like here at the end. I'm gonna try and split it up pretty even but some chapters are still all 'Cat while others might end up Ezio. We'll see haha. Anyways... decided to add in extra details to how the game went, like getting medicine from a doctor for free lmao. Oh, and, no, I'm not going to do a play-by-play for Brotherhood. Y'all have, or should have, played the game by now so you know what happens. Some things I'll follow, but I'm not going to do a walkthrough, let's put it that way haha. Some scenes I'll show, others I'll skip like Ezio going on detour to kill the beheader guy._

 _Also, definitely changed up some of Machiavelli's talk, and, man, I originally wanted him to be more sympathetic to 'Cat being preggers 'cause he had kids, but he doesn't have them by 1500 ;( He's not even married yet. And another thing: IT IS SO HARD TO FIND OUT OF IF HE EVEN HAD KIDS. Which he did. But seriously. Poor kids don't get written about much, even on wikipedia xD_

 _Right. So. Ezio's going to be busy rebuilding Rome while he tried to find his kitty-'Cat, and Catherine is... well, not going to have fun. It's a slow, downward spiral for her, sadly ;( But we get to have the fun of watching it soooo eh. Hang tight folks :'D_

 _P.S. Rome is very pretty and sooooooooo worth the visit one day! Highly recommend it to everyone :)_


	5. Famous Last Words

_**TMWolf:** Update time! Been a little slower on writing, but I think it's mostly 'cause I'm in the rough patch of the story and it's so hard to write 'Cat how she is right then. It's so weird writing her in the way I have her and just blah. But I'm getting it done and getting research for school done so yay! But, anyways... this chapter is kind of short, but important, too. Sort of. It's more of a look into a character we won't see very often, but was important in their lives... and the first step toward's Catherine's fall into insanity. Yay! :"D_

 _Thank-you for all your reviews! They mean a lot! As always, feel free to leave me any questions, comments, critiques, or any notes about errors you see! I'm always happy to reply and definitely want to make sure I fix any mistake y'all find that I missed!_

 _So for this chapter, music is from My Chemical Romance - Famous Last Word. Lyrics don't really match that much, if at all, again, but I thought the title did soooo xD (geez, what's the point of song titles then right? Idk I do try to make songs work but sometimes I can't find any dang it lol)_

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

 **05** _ **–**_ _Famous Last Words_

* * *

 **January 28, 1500**

 **Castel Sant'Angelo**

 **Rome, Italy**

She dreamt of home—the one before she came to the past. It had been before her father died, when he was still healthy and jovial. He had recently returned from a trip overseas and brought her some souvenirs. Little "fake" games for her Gameboy that would entertain her even if they were cheap and she didn't know anything on them. Her mother had been there, too, cooking something for breakfast. Their dogs were right at her heels, eager to pick up any morsels she dropped. She wouldn't in the end, but they would always hope. They had pancakes in her dream. They were happy and laughing and not caring about anything in the world.

It was a good dream, but still a dream.

Reality was far harsher, and she'd learned long ago about it back in her old time. It hadn't been a _bad_ reality—her family was well off and she'd been a good kid while they were good parents. But there was always something lingering; some hidden thing there among the smiles. It was only when she was older and after her father had passed she'd learned of his affair, and that her mother had only stayed with him to keep the family together—to let their daughter grow up unawares. Catherine later had wondered if it wasn't because the money was so good, but whatever the reason, she had grown up never knowing and they'd made it work. Even after cancer took her father it had been alright. She and her mother moved to be closer to family and things were fine. She'd been going to college before their journey to Scotland, and that wasn't so bad, either.

And now here she was.

A prisoner.

Her life here with Ezio and her precious little girl suddenly felt a lot like her previous one. Of course, her husband would _never_ cheat on her. He was a far better man than her father had been, but the bliss has been a façade. Complacency and hope had blinded them to the darkness—to the dangers, and this time is had ruined them. There was no keeping it together or making it seem not so bad—no just holding their heads up and making the best of things. She was at the Borgia's mercy, and there was no escape.

It had been weeks now since the fall of _Monteriggioni_ and her imprisonment here. She'd wasted no time in trying to find a way out. The windows had been an immediate bust, though she had attempted anyways. Iron could sometimes be broken, especially if it were old and rusted, but the bars wouldn't budge no matter how hard she pulled or pushed. She had nothing to work them with, either, and so she was forced to let them be. She tried the door more than once, but it was always locked. No matter who or when someone came in, they made sure to lock it when they left. She'd yet to find anything to use for a pick, and even then, she knew there wasn't much that she could do if she escaped—not with the guards just across the hall.

It was a taunt. She _knew_ it was. It had to be. Why else have a man stand on the opposite wall and not right by the entrance? It was to remind her every time the door opened that she was stuck here. If she managed to pick the lock, the guard would be right there to hold her at sword's edge, threatening to cut her. Of course, they wouldn't actually hurt her—not badly, anyways, but it was still a disadvantageous situation. Worse still, should she manage to subdue the man—she'd done unarmed combat plenty enough—she had a fortress full of guards to fight through. There was also _that_ man to contend with as well.

 _'Micheletto. The Borgia's rabid dog,'_ the redhead scowled at the stone ceiling high above her. The dark-haired man was one of the cruelest she'd come to know. She was lucky to have never endured his full wrath, but she'd heard the stories. She saw the way the servants he brought her acted and looked at him. They shifted carefully and skittered around him like spooked rats. They were terrified of the man and what he might do should they not meet his highest expectations. He would make good on it, too. Catherine had watched him suddenly grab a young female servant by the back of her hair, dragging her away from the redhead. No one even knew what she'd done wrong, but he seized her throat and squeezed so hard he'd left a visible bruise once he let her go. He'd whispered something in her ear, and the girl left with tears and choked sobs as fast as her feet could take her.

Micheletto had smiled at Catherine afterwards. _Smiled_.

Catherine wasn't sure she'd ever met someone like him, and she'd faced insanity.

The servant he'd hurt never returned, but the others were dead quiet whenever he came now, which, thankfully, wasn't often, but he did it enough. He, too, was reminding her of her position, and though every fiber of her being wanted to go over and strike him, she kept herself still when he was there. Although she knew he wouldn't do much to her—certainly not like the poor servant girl—he would definitely do some form of harm. Possibly break a hand or a finger. Maybe her ankle. Regardless, she couldn't afford to attack him, lest she risk losing any chance of escape or causing harm to her child.

"Please don't come to soon, baby… I need you to be patient," she whispered, eyes closed as she set her hands on her belly. It hadn't grown much, but she'd become ill a few mornings now. She knew it was her morning sickness, and it meant the child was getting bigger. She prayed the child had only been just beginning when the city was attacked, but her doubts plagued and ravaged her mind. They made her afraid; so very afraid. She never gave into it, though—not while she held onto hope.

After all, Ezio was out there. Somewhere.

She had no proof, but she could feel it in her heart. He was no doubt already in _Roma_ and working to fight against the Borgia and get to her. The city was under their enemy's control, so it wouldn't be easy, but they'd done this fight before. Ezio would rally people to his side and fight against the Borgia's influence and the family's supporters. He would take back the city, little by little, and fight his way here.

Catherine only wished it could happen quickly, but such things took time. _Venezia_ took _years_ , but she only had _months_. Once the child was born she would have less use, and even before that she would lose any ability to effectively escape. Once her belly grew too ripe, she wouldn't be able to run away from her captors. Ezio could protect her for the most part, and if they got a horse it would help, but it was risky trying to escape when more fully pregnant. Yet, she would rather take that risk then let their child fall into that bastard's hands—and his bitch sister, too.

A knock on the door pulled the redhead from her thoughts, and, after a moment, the lock was unlatched, and the wooden blockade opened with a groan. It was a doctor, clad in the usual black and his face adorned with a beaked mask. Behind him was the guard that had unlocked the door, standing with one hand on his sword. Otherwise, they were alone, and the doctor approached her as she sat up, pulling the sheets aside, and shifted to sit on the side of the bed. She adjusted her gown—she _loathed_ the damn thing with its white, cotton fabric that itched like nobody's business—and waited as he put his bag of tools beside her and then touched her chin gently.

"Hmm… seems your face is fully healed. Good. I worried for the welt on your brow, but I see nothing lasting," he began and then turned to the guard, whom remained at the entrance. "Please leave and close the door behind you. I must inspect the rest."

"I can't do that," the guard snorted. Catherine briefly considering decking him, figuring he was being a lecherous piece of shit. Then she remembered how it was Micheletto who had told them never to let her out of their sight unless the door was locked. His refusal might have been fear of punishment from the man. Yet, even that did not make her pity the guard. No doubt he'd chosen this life, and she would be lying if she said she wouldn't take pleasure in seeing him killed. He was one of the many cogs preventing her escape.

"She is my patient, and I am under direct orders from our Lady to ensure her health—that _includes_ her dignity. No man other than her husband should see a woman with child undressed unless it be a doctor or maid. Now, begone, or I will inform Lady Borgia who interfered with my work and the safety of Lord Cesare's new son," the doctor snapped right back, glaring slightly behind his mask. The guard's face paled immediately, and, after mulling on it for a moment, spat a curse and made to close the door.

He paused to growl back, "Don't blame me if she kills you! Bitch already tried to do it to the others."

Catherine snorted at that, recalling a very different version. She'd merely defended herself when one of the guards decided they wanted to get to "know her better". That, of course, included trying to see what she had under her gown, and she made sure he got a broken nose for it. It hadn't been the best idea now that she thought back on it—being that, the man wanted to do her real harm after that—but another guard had come by and, thankfully, stopped him from starting a fight. After all, the redhead carried the son of their oh-so-wonderful Lord Cesare Borgia inside her. If they caused the child harm in any way, they were sure to be tortured extensively and killed only after they could no longer beg for it.

Shame she couldn't use her pregnancy that way more, but even the thought of punishment from their cruel master could only go so far.

"Thank-you," she told the doctor once the door closed.

"Just because my master is a Borgia, does not mean I do not take my duties lightly," the man mused and turned around so she could undress. A doctor wasn't all that much better than the guard, and she always hated anyone seeing her in a state of undress beyond her husband, but he needed to check the wounds on her back and her leg, and she needed to make sure her pregnancy would be alright. He was a good man, though. Unlike her captors, he was kind—in his own way. He was not unlike the doctor back home, whom had saved her life and many others more than once. He also had far more decency than the guard, and she never felt too embarrassed when she was in just her undergarments.

"I'm good. I take it their dog has left you alone?" she asked as he turned around and began to check where she still had the remains of browned skin from her bruises.

"No—he has bitten me before… but like you, he cannot kill me. Not yet, anyways. I am the best in _Roma_ , and the Borgia only take the best. Turn around now, please," he replied and touched at her back gently, where some of the worst beatings had been. About a week ago, she'd still felt slight pain at his pressing, but now there was none.

"And leave the rest to rot, right?" she hummed, but only got a soft snort in reply. "How fares the city?"

"As it always is. You know you should not ask me such things."

"But you still answer, and it's dull in here. They don't even give me books to read. Insanity isn't good for a child you know," she mused, glancing back at the man.

He chuckled, "You hope I will propose they entertain you in some way?"

"You're my doctor. You know what's best for my health."

"I do… but what would you have me ask next? To let you out for fresh air? To give you more freedom? To cut off my own neck for being a traitor? I may not be afraid to assert some authority, but I am not a fool, my Lady. And neither are you."

Catherine's mouth pressed tight together. Damn. She'd hoped, however foolish, that she might have an ally with this man. He was the only one who dared speak normally to her, and even told her about things outside the room. He spoke sometimes of Cesare's conquests—of how he pressed further from _Roma_ and expanded his power—but mostly it was the simple things. He was always careful, though; never saying too much, but not nothing, either. It wasn't enough for her, though. She wanted to hear of changes—of stirrings of rebellion; of Ezio.

She had reached her limits, it seemed. She'd only met the doctor a few times now, but still, it was clear: he would not be an ally. He was just another pawn trapped here. Her only respite was that his tone suggested he had no love for the Borgia, either, but a lack of love did not turn one to a rebel with the threat of rope so close.

"You may dress," the doctor spoke, turning around again. She began to slip her gown on when he continued, "I do not mean to seem cruel. I pity you, I do. I heard of the attack on _Monteriggioni_ , and we all know who you are. This is a fate deserved by none, but it is a fate befalling many. I know you hope to escape, but you would do well to forget it. There is no escaping them, Lady Auditore. Not for the living, anyways."

"I'll find a way. I have to," she replied, but couldn't help the sinking feeling in her gut. She couldn't give into it, though. She had to hold onto hope. She had to believe she could get out, either by her own power, or with Ezio's help.

"Then I pray God is merciful to you."

Catherine remained quiet as she finished dressing and sat on the bed, hand resting on her belly once more. The doctor turned around, having heard the bed creak, and rummaged through his bag. He pulled out a vial of clear fluid and held it out to her. She drank it as she had before, the tonic helping to soothe any aches and help her heal.

"How do you feel?" he inquired, glancing to her abdomen.

"Not much different—beyond the occasional nausea in the mornings."

"Good… the tonic is helping with it. Your wounds are almost fully healed, too. I expect I will not need to come here every week after this."

"I see," she mumbled, the sinking feeling returning. She wished it was just the child growing inside her. "Can you still let me know about the city when you come? It's all the news I get."

"Is there something you are hoping to hear?" he inquired, brow raised when she glanced over.

"No. Not particularly. I guess… I guess what's the date?"

"Ah… the twenty-eight of January. If that is all… Well, I cannot guarantee I will hear anything new, but perhaps I will. I must report to Lady Borgia of the good progress of the child. I will try to have them send better meals for you. Until we next meet, my Lady," the doctor spoke, bowing his head, and then knocked on the door. It opened after a short pause and the man in black stepped out. The guard regarded her for a while, and she raised a brow at his ogling.

"What? Want me to break your nose like the other one?" she snorted, and while the man scowled with obvious want to do something back—perhaps call her a bitch, being so creative and all—he withheld his comment, slammed the door exceptionally hard, and made sure to work the lock loudly.

It was as good as a slap for her.

Catherine held back a shaky breath as her eyes stung. The twenty-eight of January? It was her birthday, then, and here she was, trapped. She'd been here a month and made no progress. Worse still, she'd heard no news.

"Ezio, where are you? Surely you've made waves by now," she whispered, grasping at her dress so tight her knuckles began to turn white. There was no way her husband would abandon her, and even if he had been hurt he would still try to come here. But what if he _had_ been hurt badly? Was he still recovering? Had he possibly perished?

 _'No. Never. You know better. You know him. He's alive,'_ she growled, banishing the thought.

Ezio was alive, but so why was it taking so long to have news of change? She didn't want to think the doctor was lying, and she hadn't heard whispers from the maids or guards, so she believed he was truthful with her. Did they have no allies? No, no, they did. It was a flicker of a memory, but it was there: Niccolo Machiavelli. He'd said he was returning to _Roma_ the night before the attack. He would have escaped the armies, and he had troops here. Mercenaries. Despite leaving on bad terms, she knew the man would help her husband. They respected each other too much, and Machiavelli was an Assassin to the core. He would help Ezio.

If he was here.

Again her mind shifted to the notion her husband, even after nearly a month, was gone. It made her fearful, but she kept the panic at bay. Catherine breathed in deeply instead, pushing her face into her palms. She forced herself to think—to formulate a strategy.

Her options were severely limited, but she'd dealt with worse. At least, she was pretty sure she had. The doctor couldn't be an ally—at least not yet. Friendliness was a lead she could work with. She just had to keep talking to him and earn his trust. If she could somehow convince him she was worth helping—that she could help fight the Borgia and free him from their grip—then maybe he could do something. Perhaps he could get a message? Would he be able to contact Machiavelli at all? It was a long shot, but she would have to try. Next visit, she would try to appeal to him.

 _'Micheletto is a problem, though,'_ she growled, wishing now more than ever she could cut the man's throat. He was so intent on taunting her that he should have had some weakness show up, but so far she'd found nothing. He was too careful; too smart. For all his insanity, he wasn't a fool. This was all just a fun game for him—entertainment. _She_ was a plaything and he had hold of all the strings. If she wanted to get anywhere, she'd have to find a way to deal with him. But how? She had no weapon beyond her wits and her fists, and they would do little against his knife. So what was there for her to use?

The door's lock sounded, pulling Catherine from her thoughts once again. She frowned, perplexed; who could be visiting her? It was only ever the maid and the doctor, and the maids wouldn't come until it was a meal or bathing time, and she'd had lunch not long ago. Dinner wouldn't be for a while, and they bathed her in the mornings. The redhead held her breath, tensing her body. If it was none of those who aided her, then it had to be one of the Borgia or their dog. The guards were under strict orders, so they'd leave her be, but the Borgia could come and go as they wished—including Micheletto. Cesare wasn't back yet, though, so that left his dog or his sister. Had she come to taunt her more then?

As it turned out, it was neither.

Catherine's eyes widened as a face she hadn't seen in what felt forever opened the door and, ignoring the protest of the guard, closed it behind him. He looked entirely different from the last they'd met. Where once his figure had bee hidden beneath a dark robe that obscured everything but his face and the front, now he was adorned in a pristine white with a mantle of red entwined with golden sashes and red jewels. His arms were clad in deep, red gloves, and a small, red hat covered his dark, graying locks. He still wore a short beard as he always did, the whiskers a salt-and-pepper mix of gray, black, and white. His eyes were the same dark shade she remembered, but the strength she once knew—once faced—had waned. He looked tired. Worn. Yet, the man standing before her was the very same that she had fought against since she'd come to this time.

Rodrigo Borgia. The Grand Master of the Templar. His Excellency the Pope.

"Come to gloat on your victory?" she spat, lip curling in disgust. To his credit, he didn't smirk or flinch or do much of anything. Rather, he continued to regard her as he had since entering. He was quiet, and it confused her. She would have expected him to be gleefully praising himself in front of her, lording the victory over her. He had always been such a prideful man, after all, and even _she_ had bested him and stolen his own Clock—the partner to hers that had fallen into Templar clutches. That failure had not stopped him, and, in fact, he had gone after the papacy instead of the Apple afterwards, intent on gaining as much power as he could to face them and take what resided in the Vault. He had still wanted the power of the Gods—of the Isu, though he didn't know who they were. So why the silence now? Why so subdued?

He didn't speak, nor did he move for the longest time. She began to wonder if he had suddenly died standing where he was, but then a long, slow sigh escaped him. He glanced to her vanity, his focus on the chair, and made his way over to it. He moved the furniture closer to her bed, opposite to the side she was on, and sat down. He set his elbows on his thighs, fingers clasped together in his lap. His eyes looked ahead, aimed at the door, but his mind was certainly elsewhere.

Catherine's fingers clenched as she growled, "You tried to destroy my husband all his life. You killed his father and brother. You tried to kill _him_! You tried to destroy everything with your Clock and you tried to take what was in the Vault and now you've destroyed our home and slaughtered our people! What more do you want!?"

"I did not condone the attack," the Pope replied after a few seconds, and the redhead felt both confusion and anger.

"Like hell you didn't! Your fucking son told us you told him _everything_!" she snarled, standing up quickly. She instinctively flexed her wrist, but there was no Hidden Blade to come forth. She was sorely tempted to try strangling him, though, even if it meant they would kill her—child or not.

"I did, but I did not tell him to come after you. I am not a fool. I know it is folly to fight against you and Ezio Auditore."

"You're still guilty, you bastard! Ezio's going to make you pay for this. He's going to come for me, and then we won't stop until you, your son, and everyone of your damn family and Templars are dead!"

The Pope met her gaze finally as he sighed, "I know."

She balked, brow scrunching together. The fire in her faltered, and she watched him closely, searching for the lie. There was none. He was sincere in his words. He knew he had assured his death now, despite having escaped it before. He knew his family would suffer. So why did he not fight against it? Why did he sound so defeated?

"What do you want, Rodrigo? Why are you here if not to mock me? I can't imagine it's to congratulate me on your coming grandchild," she went on, her sarcasm harsh but only half-hearted.

The man glanced nowhere in particular, then back to her, "…Why did Ezio spare me? He had all the reason in the world… but he let me live. He told me it would not bring them—his family—back, but it cannot be so simple. So… _foolish_ a reason. Surely."

" _That's_ what you want to know?" she guffawed, sighing a moment after. "Obviously because he's a better man than _you_."

He wasn't fazed in the slightest, and she couldn't keep from sighing softly. She folded her arms across her chest and let her gaze drop.

"He did it because it's… it's been going on too long. This fight. We wanted to have peace, but the killing had to stop somewhere, so he showed you mercy. All we wanted was to raise our children safely… and now look where we are."

"For what it is worth… I did not wish for this to happen."

The redhead narrowed her eyes, "If you honestly mean that, you'll let me go."

"I cannot," he responded, almost too quickly. She frowned, opening her mouth to berate him, but then closed it. She looked at him again, closer this time. She took note of the way he held himself; his subdued nature. This was not a man of strength—not like his son.

"You… have no power. Not anymore," she stated plainly, and his quick glance said it all. "Rodrigo has taken over. You've let him take control."

"He will not listen. I only wish to keep my Order together. That is all."

Catherine grew quiet for a moment, "Then what? You just came to ask about my husband's mercy?"

"No… there is… another matter. The Vault…"

"You still want to know what was in it?" she snorted, even chuckling some. "Nothing, really. Nothing _you_ hoped for anyways… Just a message."

He frowned, sitting up some, "That… that cannot be all. Surely? A message for _who_? Ezio?"

"No, not him. Not you. Not me. No one here. Not in this time. It was for the future."

"I… I do not understand. There was nothing? That can't be. _God_ was supposed to be in there… Was… was _Venezia_ just a dream?"

"Don't you remember?" she asked, and when he looked up at her, she knew. Catherine sat down, speaking softly now, "You don't. You don't remember when I used the Clock to destroy yours."

"My memory is fragmented. I can remember little. Only… I felt it. God's power. I _felt_ it. I thought…. I thought it was in the Vault, too, but…"

"It was no _God_. Just… an ancient power better off forgotten. It's from a time before us, and it's too dangerous to use."

"But _you_ wielded it, did you not?" he pressed, eyes wider; brighter.

Her gaze cooled, "And it _killed_ me."

"Yet you speak to me now. You tell me this is not the work of God?"

"The same power brought me back, and it was not the work of your God or any god. It was just an old, ancient man from a race long since forgotten by time, trying to make a wrong right. The Vault was just another of their tools. There is no God there. Perhaps not anywhere. All I know is the power is not meant for _us_ , and it should be left alone."

"My son would disagree. He seeks to have you activate it for him," Rodrigo hummed, which brought a sneer to her face.

"Again, thanks to _you_. You told him of your 'dreams' of the power, and now I'm imprisoned here. Do you know what your son could do with any information that might be in the Apple?!" she rasped, standing up again with her hands thrown up.

"I imagine he will try to conquer all of _Italia_. I have tried to quell him, but it seems he has learned nothing from my failures," Rodrigo sighed and finally stood back up. "I am sorry it has come to this, Catherine Auditore. Truly, I am."

"So you say… but know this: Ezio _will_ come for me," she replied, watching him as he made for the door. "And when he does… you best hope he still has a shred of mercy left for you."

"Death comes to us all, my Lady, be it old age or an Assassin's blade. Whichever takes me, I will go to God for my judgement, knowing all I have done was what I believed to be right," he told her, his voice empty once more. He set his hand on the ring that served as the handle and began to pull.

"For what its worth, Rodrigo," she started, causing him to pause, "I hope your God is merciful."

He waited a few seconds before he replied, "So do I."

The door shut softly behind him, the lock set into place. Catherine was alone again, and she sat on her bed, torn. She hated the Spaniard for all he stood for and who he was, and yet the sight of him left her full of pity and a sense of empathy. He was like her now: powerless. Another pawn in this game, with seemingly nothing but death awaiting them.

Her eyes stung and this time she didn't bother to hold back. With a short sob, she let the tears fall and brought her knees to her chest, wishing it were all a dream.

"Happy Birthday to me."

* * *

 **05 –** _End_

* * *

 ** _TMWolf:_** _*pops confetti* Happy Birthday, 'Cat! Sorry it sucks! :D_

 _But for real. So this chapter was really fun for writing Rodrigo. He was definitely way, way, way subdued in the game, and I wanted to explore it a bit in a convo with 'Cat. There will be one with Ezio, too, but this one is more important. Anyways, wanted to have this talk, being Rodrigo won't be visiting again, and it was important. For one, I kiiiiiiiiinda hint at that whole "fixing" process from Chronos. Do y'all remember? Well, if you don't, go back to the last non-epilogue chapter and you'll understand ;) But, basically, Rodrigo is having some trouble remembering his Clock HMMMMMMM. Interesting. Not super important, but a fun tie-in with the prequel to this story hehe_

 _Anyways._

 _So. Things aren't going great for 'Cat. It's gunna get worse, too. Also, Micheletto is a freaking sick, psychopath, and that's fun to write weirdly enough. Probably says a lot about me lol But, anyways, we'll be seeing him again, too, but for now 'Cat is not doing great and next chapter will show more Ezio so get ready! xD Y'all can be happy to see our (and 'Cat's) favorite hot piece of Ass-assin :'D_


	6. Selfish

_**TMWolf:** So, uh, sorry I forgot to update D: I've had a really busy time since when I was supposed to update and wasn't able to be on my laptop a lot which had the story, so oops? Combination of work and research, so I barely had time to do well, much of anyhting. But I'm back and updating early this week to kinda make up for it! :) This is an Ezio-dominate chapter, so hope my Ezio fans enjoy! xD It's namely just my take on some scenes that I felt were important to show since I don't want to do a "walkthrough" and all._

 _Anyways... thank-you for your reviews and views in general! I really appreciate y'all reading my story and leaving your input, so feel free to leave any comments, questions, critique, or if you see any error please let me know! I don't always catch them! XP_

 _And this chapter's song is by... Future - Selfish (ft. Rihanna). Still no lyrics fitting, but I thought the title worked xD_

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 **06** – _Selfish_

* * *

 **February 18, 1500**

 **Rome, Italy**

Ezio dismounted his horse as he came into the courtyard, eyes scanning it quickly. It was one of the nicer parts of the city, settled on one of the edges not terrible far from _Isola TIberina_ ; perhaps a few minutes by horse. He lamented how long it had taken him to come to this place, but things had waylaid his progress. Despite meeting Machiavelli so soon and talking of a great many things—of gathering allies and bringing the city to their side—starting it was slow. He still needed to recover, for one, his wound bringing him more pain and ache than he liked once the medicine had worn off. He could not hope to fulfill his goals, though, if he could not fight to his full potential. So he had spent about a week nursing his injury at the new lair of the Assassins, hidden within the _Isola_ , and also planning.

The storehouse had been a great boon from Fabio Orsini—cousin to Bartolomeo—whom he hoped would remain an ally and provide his strength when needed. The man, unfortunately, was in a precarious position and could not openly support them. He was, after all, a commander in Cesare's army, but he had no love for the Borgia, even if he was married to the cousin of his leader. Indeed, the man was very much so on their side, and even seemed to admire him—Ezio was both honored and a little amused Bartolomeo had spoken so highly of him to the Orsini—but he could do no more than provide the old storehouse. It would be enough, though, and served to give Ezio the safety he needed before he began his work.

Thus far he had altered the building to suit their needs, setting up a place to conduct plans and keep a map of the city to lay their mark upon. Machiavelli had brought food and supplies, and extra coin—to help speed things along. He'd also showed the Assassin the secret tunnels around the city, and with the extra coin he would earn from his work—be it from requests or claiming income from the buildings he bought—the other portals could be repaired. They would be vital to his work, and so he made sure to mark their locations down whenever he could. Beyond that, Niccolo provided what information he could; particularly the locations of some of his allies he would hope to bring to his cause.

Yet, he could not move so quickly, even after his wounds had fully healed. He needed more coin and influence, and the Borgia's hold was strong. It could be broken, though, as he had done the same day he'd spoken with his fellow Assassin. The loss of the Captain had loosened the hand of the Borgia, providing a means to grow the influence of his brotherhood. And so he had begun to work, slowly and in the shadows, by removing what Captains he could. Some were still beyond his means—the _Vaticano_ distract especially was an impossible feat at the moment—but already he had rid the Borgia flag from a handful of sections of the city. It wasn't much, but it showed; the people looked more relaxed and did not look at soldiers with the same fear.

It had taken a long time, but he was ready to begin acquiring his allies—not unlike back home and in _Venezia_. Thieves. Mercenaries. Courtesans. All people of _Roma_ , and his best hope of improving his chances of overthrowing the Borgia. Machiavelli had recommended visiting Bartolomeo in the countryside at his fortress, the _Caserma di Alviano_ ,where he aimed to take on the French army led by Octavian de Valois. Ezio deemed that particular route too risky, however—to face both Borgia _and_ the French at once, even with Bartolomeo was too soon a task to manage. He needed more allies first. He'd considered the thieves next, but he did not know any of them there, and they could be tricky. They might not know who he was as they did in _Venezia_ , nor might they dislike the Borgia as much. He would have to approach them eventually, but for now he considered his third potential allies.

Courtesans he knew how to handle. He had most of his life—up until the woman he loved stole his heart. Their charms no longer could sway him, but his worked just fine, and that was an advantage he could not ignore. The women would be useful, too, in approaching nobles and men high up in the Borgia ranks. They had the coin to spare for such pleasantries, and men's tongues moved quickly when sex was involved. _That_ was something Ezio greatly needed: nobles talking. Catherine was hidden somewhere in, then it was the nobles that would know about her, or at least have some inkling of information. They would perhaps speak of a "guest" with the Borgia, anyways, and that would be something. A little more time and he might even obtain her exact location, be it here, the _Vaticano_ , the _Castel_ or even outside the city. No matter where she was, he would go, but he needed to know _where_ she was.

Thus, Ezio Auditore chose the courtesans to be his first allies.

The _Rosa in Fiore_ was the place Niccolo had recommended, run by the Madame Solari, and while it was a grand sight with its multiple stories, pale walls, and red tiled roofs, he could not help feeling something was off. Perhaps it was the smell of the river, which wasn't exactly the cleanest, but he supposed it didn't matter. He needed to seek the Madonna and acquire her loyalty in whatever way he could. Well, except for one. He could never betray his wife, but he would do everything he could to ensure he could get the courtesans to find her location.

The Assassin approached the tall mansion, noting some drunks were out front as were men who did not look in terribly good health. They were mumbling something, but he could not make out what as he knocked on the tall, wooden door. It opened after a few moments, letting loose a mixture of aromas that filled his nose and revealed a blonde-haired beauty, her dress barely covering her assets. Her hair was tied up in the frivolous buns he once played with to tease the girls—among other things—and locks flittered down to her collar. Her eyes looked him over once before smiling coyly, eyelids drooping some. Years ago, it would have enticed him. Now he only thought back wryly on such memories, to have been so enamored with such women.

"Welcome to the _Rosa in Fiore_ , stranger," she cooed, leaning against the door, causing her chest to show itself promiscuously.

He bowed his head politely, "Hello. Would be kind enough to call the owner for me?"

"Madonna Solari is not in," the woman replied, shifting back to a proper stance. Disappointment crossed her features, but was soon covered with a suspicious expression as she folded her arms over her chest. Ezio imagined not many men asked for the owner—certainly not a "stranger", but at least the women were apparently careful here.

"Do you know where she is?"

"I—."

" _Help! Help!"_ a voice screamed, and both courtesan and Assassin turned to find another girl dressed not unlike the blonde rushing towards them. Her skin was pale and sweat was along her brow. Her eyes were wide with fright as she came to them, "Madonna Solari—."

The blonde took the woman's hands, "Lucia! We thought you were gone for good!"

"The men took us on a ship! They released me, but she—."

"Who took you on a ship?" Ezio interjected quickly, lifting his hand to grab her attention. The woman turned towards him and he saw hope flicker in her eyes.

"Slave traders, Mister. Near _Isola Tiberina_. They want coin in exchange for her life."

The Assassin scowled. Slave traders. Some of the worst scum out there, and so close to his headquarters? Even if it weren't for the courtesans' involvement, he couldn't allow them to remain.

"I will get her back. Go inside, and do not let anyone else in until I return in case they come back here," he told the blonde, whom nodded. She quickly pulled Lucia in with her, locking the door after. Good. They would be safe for now, which meant he was free to work without worry. The Assassin whistled for his horse, which came at once, and he took off as quick as he could through the streets. The only place a ship could dock was in the river on the southern edge where they could sail it out of the city and not worry for bridges. The ride took him through the poorer parts of the district, evading guards, and keeping a low profile.

He spotted the ship easily enough as he came upon the river's edge and dismounted. He could only see a few men by the rails, which meant the Madonna was either more towards the center or even down below. The latter was not as desirable an option, but he would handle it all the same. Still, he would prefer facing them on deck if he could. In the end, he supposed it didn't matter; he approached the boat and paused when a thief brandished a dagger at him. He looked beyond the man, and found another, and in his clutches was a woman with a knife to her throat. She didn't look much like a Madonna, rather just another courtesan, but it had to be Solari.

"Are you here for the whore?" the man in front barked as Ezio drew closer and took a pouch of his coin meant for the _Rosa_ off his belt.

"Help me!" the woman cried.

Ezio frowned as he tossed the pouch to the man, "I have your money. Now let her go!"

"No!" the man sneered and pulled the blade across her pale neck. "Take it up with Cesare."

"Bastard!" the Assassin snarled as the slave trader let Solari drop, blood pouring from her throat. She was most likely already dead, not that he could do anything for her—especially not with the group suddenly converging on him. There was about eight in total, but nothing he couldn't manage. They were poorly armored, and their only tools were daggers at the most. No doubt they were successful only through subterfuge and their numbers.

Today, however, was going to be their last victory; their last life claimed.

Sword drawn, Ezio took them all on. His senses kept him safe, evading blows at the last second regardless of which way they came. He spun and twirled, ducked and dodged, and then struck with sword, Blade, and even throwing knives when one slave trader tried to flee, seeing they could not win. By the end of it, a parade of bodies was around him, their blood turning the brown wood of the deck red. He grimaced at the sight of it as he came over to the Madonna. He turned her onto her back and closed her faded eyes.

"Rest in peace," he murmured softly and then left, though paused to reclaim his money.

He made for the _Rosa in Fiore_ the same way he'd come, all the way contemplating things. The Madonna was dead, which meant the courtesans no longer had a leader. Had Cesare planned it? Had he known Ezio was coming for them? Or had they defied the bastard and they took Solari because of it? Even if he had answers, that still left one lingering concern: who would lead the women now? A Madonna required a certain skill set to manage both the people and the money, and not many women were capable of such things—at least, for the kind of woman that would run a _brothel_. No noble woman would dare, but what common lady would take it up? _He_ couldn't run it, so where did that leave him?

His heart sank at the thought of losing precious allies—and a potential network of informants that could find his wife. He would have to find another way then, but first he had to report back to the woman and Lucia. It would be cruel to leave them wondering if they would be taken next.

Ezio knocked as before, but instead of the door opening a voice shouted from behind it, "Go away! We are closed for today!"

"I bear news of Madonna Solari," he replied, and once more he was greeted by a courtesan, but not the blonde woman. It was a brunette this time, whom regarded him curiously.

"She is not with you?" she asked, realzing his was alone.

"I… do not bear _good_ news. I'm sorry," he replied, causing the girl to gasp and her eyes water. She sniffed loudly as she covered her mouth. Ezio touched her arm gently, "I have dealt with the slave traders. You will not suffer them any longer."

"Thank-you. Truly. We are in your debt, Mister…?"

He smiled warmly, "Auditore. Ezio Auditore."

"Ezio?" the woman frowned, her sorrow mixing with confusion. Realization came next, eyes widening. "Oh! You are—there are two visitors in the back patio looking for you. Here, I can lead you to them. It is the least I can do for what you have done."

"Wait—who are they?" he called out, but the woman was already heading towards the back. He sighed, but complied anyways. The woman was already upset, and she was determined to lead the way. The brothel was rather empty, although he suspected the girls were laying low. They would hopefully not need to for a long while, and so he continued, venturing through a kitchen and then out another door into the outside once more. As the courtesan said, a group had gathered at the back. Two of them were the blonde-haired courtesan from before and Lucia there. The other two, however, were two ladies dressed not in sultry garbs, but regal gowns. They also had dark hair and _extremely_ familiar faces—ones which made him pause.

He had set them away. They _couldn't_ be here.

Yet, as he came closer, he knew his eyes were not tricking him, and so he was left dumbfounded, barely able to find his words.

"Mother? Sister?" he called, and—to his dismay—the two women looked up with wide, bright smiles.

"Ezio!" Maria beamed, coming forward to embrace the young man. He did so tentatively, mind trying to figure out how they were here. "Sir Machiavelli said that you might be here."

"What are you doing in _Roma_? Has _Firenze_ been attacked? Is Diana alright?" he pressed, heart racing briefly. He had already lost his wife—to lose Diana now as well?

"No. Or, rather, I do not know. We did not go to _Firenze_ ," Claudia answered.

Ezio stepped forward, brows scrunched, "Why?"

"Ezio, we want to help."

"I was trying help _you_ by sending you to _Firenze_ … wait, what of Diana?"

"Do not worry, my son, she is safe. Machiavelli has taken her and Giovanni into his home. Annetta is with them as well. He is claiming them as his cousins so they will not be questioned. He will protect them," his mother spoke, touching his arm gently. Relief flooded through the Assassin, but so, too, did annoyance and a sense of betrayal. Machiavelli had told him nothing of this—that his daughter was here, in _Roma_ ; so close to his enemy! Deep down he knew that being under his comrade's care was, perhaps, the safest place she could be, but still; his instinct was to worry for his child. What if Cesare found out? What if he took his daughter, too?

"Where is Madonna Solari?" Lucia suddenly spoke up, pulling the Assassin from his thoughts.

"She's dead," he responded plainly, his anger not cooled in the slightest.

Lucia gasped, "Shit."

"What now?" another girl asked softly.

"Will we have to close?" the blonde added, looking between the three of them with desperation.

Ezio turned sharply, "You cannot close. I need your help."

"Mister, without someone who can run things, we are finished," Lucia replied, gaze falling as her sisters shifted nervously. Ezio scowled, recalling his earlier thoughts. Just as he feared, without a Madonna, the _Rosa_ would close. He would lose his allies—a chance for his wife!

"I will do it."

Ezio's gaze shot to Claudia, whom faced him, a determination in her eyes. Even a stranger could have seen the woman was not going to relent, her head held high and expression firm. Even so, the Assassin jabbed a finger at the ground.

"You do not belong here, Claudia."

She nearly snorted, folding her arms, "I know how to run a business. I ran our home for _years_ , or have you forgotten who provided the funds to build it up? To expand our forces? To fund your missions?"

"This is different!"

"What alternative do you have, Ezio?" Maria pressed, and Claudia raised a brow in challenge.

"I didn't send you away just to have you come and face the danger of the Borgia all over again! They have already taken too much from me," he hissed, the pain of his loss fueling his anger. His sister still would not relent; rather, her gaze grew cool and there was a familiar hurt there.

"You are not the only one who has lost someone to the Borgia. At least Catherine is still _alive_."

The Assassin paused, realization dawning upon him.

Ottavio.

Federico.

Their bodies hadn't been found. Only Giovanni had gotten through with them. Mario had perished, and there was no way the Captain would have abandoned his commander or the battlefield. No, Ottavio was the kind of man who would have fought until his last breath to ensure his family was safe. In that way, the mercenary and Assassin had been very much so alike and had created a strong bond between them beyond simply being brothers by his sister's marriage. If Mario had not made it, then it was likely the Captain had fallen with him. Giovanni had said both he and Federico had been sent back, but his nephew hadn't seen his brother since their wild race back. They couldn't know if he was alive or not, and the Borgia had only taken two prisoners—that they knew of. Still, the chances were slim.

Yet, Ezio could not appease the anger in him. Claudia might have had good reason to fight, but he could not bear seeing her nor his mother harm. He had already failed his wife—he could not endure another. He was foolish for it. In his heart, he knew it was selfish and cruel, but his mind would not listen as he jabbed his finger at her.

"You do this, Claudia, and you are on your own."

Maria frowned, "Ezio—!"

"I have done just fine on my own for _twenty years_ ," the younger Auditore shot right back, and the words stung more than he thought they would. He did not miss the meaning; of how, though they had thrived together in the city, he had not truly been there. Not really.

"Fine," he barked back. He should have said something more; should have apologized; but his pride would not let him. He looked around at them all briefly and then back to his sister. "I intend to repair the brothel. This place is a real mess. And I want _your_ courtesans to find any word of Catherine. They took her, and I need to know where."

Claudia folded her arms across her chest and replied curtly, "You can count on us."

 **-O-**

 **February 24, 1500**

 **Rome, Italy**

The repairs went smoother and more quickly than Ezio had expected. The architect was easy enough to find, and with Machiavelli's finances—along with some of his own—the _Rosa in Fiore_ was repaired, partially rebuilt, and made better than ever. The basic outward structure was left be, although reinforced in the front, and new additions added in the front, back, and an extra level as well. The portal leading to _Isola Tibera_ was repaired, much to Ezio's approval, which made it far easier to go to and from. Within the complex, leaks were fixed, the old smells rid of, and the inside was revamped with ornate furniture, beautiful painting, the prettiest of flowers, and best silk for curtains and sheets—all to befit the title of "best brothel in _Roma_ ". Not that it had such a title yet, but it was going to. Even before the true grand opening they had patrons waiting, and both new and veteran girls had been called upon, too. There was much to discuss and new rules to make, and as much as Ezio hated to admit it, Claudia had done better than he expected in her leadership rol.

Even so, he was still reluctant to agree to it, and he did not like. He preferred his sister safe somewhere else—not so close to the Borgia claws, but she was as stubborn as he. A true Auditore, and, to his annoyance, Mother was on her side. Their mother had even taken a place in the _Rosa_ , acting as a Madonna in her own right, though more-so in insuring the girls were well taken care of and that proper provisions were made. She was the "mother" of the house and the girls now, it seemed, while Claudia had already begun to ensure a profit would be made and that the right customers would be entertained. Indeed, his sister knew what she was doing and would show it soon enough.

And now that the brothel was officially open, Ezio paid mind to visit. He had been putting it off longer than he should have—instead focusing on his next allies to pick and taking out Borgia Captains where needed while also finding new sources of coin—but now here he was. He would never admit it, but he _was_ impressed by it all when he entered the establishment. Girls were everywhere, either appealing to their patrons, or walking around, looking ready to make use of their charms. He spotted a noble he'd seen before in one corner and hoped it might be a future source of information for his wife's locations.

"Welcome to the _Rosa in Fiore_ ," Claudia spoke up, having noticed him at last. A smirk played at her lips, though she kept a professional composure. "As you can see, soon to be the most popular brothel in _Roma_. Already nobles line up to spend time with _my_ girls."

"My money went well invested," Ezio mused, not wanting to give his sister any satisfaction. Their mother, not far off speaking with a courtesan, scoffed before she joined them.

"Ezio, come now. You may have funded the repairs, but Claudia's system has us thriving. We will see good profits by the end of the month already," she began, frowning as she gave her son a "look". He shrank down a little, knowing better than to cross her right now. Her expression grew somber as she lowered her voice, "And prominent nobles from the court of Cesare himself have taken an interest."

"You are certain? Do they—?"

Claudia shook her head, "No news yet. These nobles may know nothing at all, but my girls will keep pressing until we hear something—anything. They're still learning the skills I taught myself when engaging them in _Monteriggioni_."

"I need answers _now_ ," Ezio growled.

"What? You think you could do better?" the young woman snapped, glaring with hands on her hips. He opened his mouth to snarl back, but his mother once again shot him a look.

"Ezio," she chastised, "You know we are doing everything to get Catherine back. She is dear to us as well. But the Borgia make it difficult for Claudia's girls. If you wish to expedite things, there is much you can do that would aid them. You should help them if they ask it of you."

"I… I will keep that in mind," he rumbled, softer this time, but then grew gruff again as he looked to his sister. "Anything else?"

"No," she huffed, but then faltered. "Or, well… Ezio… there has been talk—not of Catherine, but… Caterina Sforza. Cesare took her prisoner."

"What?"

"We do not know where she is, but the nobles know more of her than Catherine," Maria added. Ezio frowned. This only made things more difficult. Caterina was an ally in her own way, and he had hoped they could join forces formally after all they'd been through. She was a friend as well, and to leave her in Cesare's hands would be cruel. She could very well be killed, too.

"Catherine comes first," he began, fingers clenching, "but keep me informed of Caterina as well."

"Alright," Claudia nodded.

Ezio let out a deep breath of air, "Good… when you have anything—either of their locations—come to see me at _Isola Tiberina_."

"We will, and Ezio?" Maria spoke, grasping her son's hand gently. "Please, be careful. And visit Diana if you can. She misses and worries for you."

"I'll visit her soon—I promise. Take care, Mother," he replied, kissing her brow. He looked to his sister, opening his mouth to speak, but then closed it. He nodded instead, which Claudia returned, and then he left. No words followed him, but guilt did once he closed the wooden door behind him. He should have said _something_ to her, but his pride kept him from doing so. He was still upset with her choice, and damn it all if they both weren't too stubborn to let things go.

He shook the thought awayHe didn't have time to mull on it. Claudia could evidently handle herself, and he had more important matters to deal with. First and foremost was giving Machiavelli a piece of his mind about his daughter, something of which he'd been stewing on for a while, but most of all he did need to go see her. Then, once he was sure she would be alright, he had to decide whether to visit the thieves or mercenaries next.

Sighing softly, Ezio opened the metal gate to the tunnel entrance outside the _Rosa in Fiore_ and headed back to his headquarters. All the while, he prayed some news of Catherine would come soon, and that she—and their unborn child—were alright.

 **-O-**

 **February 24, 1500**

 **Castel Sant'Angelo**

 **Rome, Italy**

Catherine regarded the young girl standing in her doorway, clutching the wash rag against her chest like it was a lifeline. The bucket of water in her other hand looked ready to spill over, but was nothing compared to her wide eyes that looked ready to burst into tears. She refused to meet the redhead's gaze, determined to look at anything _but_ her, but too afraid to come any closer than the arch of the door. The guard behind her grunted, causing her to squeak and jump forward slightly.

"Get in there and wash the floors already," he snapped and, now that she was out of the way, slammed the door shut. The woman looked absolutely terrified.

Frankly, Catherine hadn't any idea why. It was almost amusing, but mostly it was sad to watch her shuffle over to the farthest corner, crouch down on the ground, and begin to scrub the floors. She supposed, at the very least, she was glad someone _did_ wash the room even if it was maybe once every few weeks. She suspected it was by the Doctor's orders, being that a clean room was better for a baby. Either way, it was still nice not to feel like she was stuck in a grimy room. Although, being treated like she was a blood-sucking monster from hell was a little weird—and a little insulting.

"I'm not going to kill you, you know. Although, I'm sure the guards joked otherwise," the redhead snorted, cheek set into her palm while her elbow rested on her knee. The woman flinched, but did not reply; instead, she kept scrubbing and shifted so her back faced the redhead. Catherine half-sighed, half-groaned. "Good Lord, you can't be serious. I finally have someone other than the Doctor alone in the room with me, and they think I'm the Devil or something."

The woman remained quiet, and Catherine sighed fully. Well, this was great. It had been a while since anyone had spoken to her in the slightest—the maids that brought food just brought the tray and then left. No "good morning" or "hello". They just set the food down, left the room, and then cam back in an hour to take it again. If they were the ones to bathe her they only spoke to ask her to lift her arm or turn around and what not. Not a true conversation. The Doctor was the only one to ever say anything, but it was generally the same. Nothing particularly new to say about the city; certainly nothing about a man in white liberating the populace. Her hopes of him becoming an ally were slim and looked slimmer every visit. She had to hold onto hope, though. It was the only thing keeping her going now.

"Do you have a name I can call you? I'd rather not have to say 'hey, you' or 'cleaning lady' if I need you to clean anywhere in particular," the redhead hummed, leaning back against the bed frame. Not that knowing her name—even if she did say it—would do anything really. It certainly wouldn't help her boredom. Despite getting some new books, she'd read them all multiple times now and she could only handle reading scriptures so much.

When the girl kept quiet, Catherine groaned aloud. She flinched and scrubbed a little faster. The redhead rubbed her face—particularly her brow—and slung her legs off the bed. The woman, as she expected, grew tense, and watched her from the corner of her eye as Catherine sat down in the vanity chair. Her movements were becoming slightly different, and she could tell her belly was growing. Not too much yet, but it was definitely larger. She could still run if she managed to get out and even fight, but the idea her child might be farther along than she thought was dreadful. The child was that much closer to being in Borgia hands, and her usefulness would come closer to an end. She had spent a long while considering her role after Cesare no longer needed her, and she had no illusions about what her fate would be.

Death.

There might be torture before—she could already imagine what kind—but death would come.

She had to find a way out now more than ever.

"Look, I don't care if you start preaching some incantation to banish a demon at me or call me the Devil or even bitch, can you just say _something_? I'm dying of boredom. So, y'know, what? Did the guard tell you I'd bite your head off? Did Lucrezia? Do you actually believe _her_? All she's good for is popping out babies for whoever the Borgia throw her way, so I wouldn't call her opinion very valid."

"My Lady is not like that!" the girl spoke quickly, but the redhead could only snort. The response was way too quick, and her eyes shifted way too much. Well, at least she could work with that. Better than silence, anyways.

"So she doesn't slap you and-or berate you constantly? I know a superiority complex when I see one, and she's got it bad. Spoiled, too. But that's what happens when daddy is the Pope and brother dearest runs the army. Doesn't help she's got nice breasts, so you know men shower her with adoration. God forbid she not be the fairest bitch of them all."

The woman's eyes went wide with horror again, "Y-you musn't say such things! The guards will hear!"

"I'm carrying her new nephew. What do I have to worry about? I can still kick her ass even if I'm pregnant, anyways. So, what did you do to piss her off?"

"I—no. N-nothing," the girl stuttered, going back to scrubbing the stone furiously.

Catherine sighed, "Look, the guards don't actually care. They don't like when I break their noses. And I'm sure as hell not going to tell Lady Bitch-face you talked to me. I'm not exactly trying to grovel my way into her good graces."

The girl briefly paused, and Catherine felt a flicker of relief. She also felt a little bad, tricking the girl—in a way. She was pretty young, and no doubt had been forced into this life somehow. She might have been a plain commoner chosen for this work and it was probably the best she'd ever known. Now she lived in fear of her life for it. No person deserved to live that way, but she needed someone to talk to at this point. She needed an ally, however small. It was selfish, she knew, but her child's life was at stake, and that was everything.

"I… my Lady… said you were… well, a savage. That you kill senselessly. Like a mad, wild animal. She said you tried to kill His Holiness," the girl finally spoke, almost at an inaudible whisper.

"She's only right that I kill people. Well, not right now, but I have. Came with the job," the redhead shrugged, and the girl looked at her, eyes wide once more. Catherine waved, "No, no calm down. I didn't kill people like _you_. I killed bad ones. Or well, bad in a certain way. We took out people who were bad for the populace. Like the Pazzi if you know them or the Barbarigo. And _I_ didn't try to kill the Pope. My husband did. The Pope kind of falsely accused his family and hung them decades ago. He's not exactly a great guy, although…"

She paused on the words, recalling her talk with the aging man not long ago. She let the words fade, not wanting to even say them aloud. It would be admitting to them, and that felt like she was forgiving him, but she couldn't do that. She could _never_ do that.

"The Pope would never do such a thing—he is _holy_."

Catherin shrugged, letting her head fall back lazily, "Think what you want. Just know I won't kill you. You're an innocent. My husband and I work to _help_ the innocent… we just do it in, well, a bad way, I guess. Killing isn't ever exactly _good_. Just… necessary sometimes."

And sometimes that became a lot of times.

Thirty years of killing. Or was it longer? She supposed it didn't matter. Her hands had been stained red from the first kill, and it would never wash away. She could only come to terms with it and live knowing she killed to do good, no matter how "bad" her work was.

"Paula," the girl suddenly spoke, and the redhead turned her head towards her. She looked down bashfully, "My name is Paula. I'm the new cleaning maid for your room."

"I'm Catherine. Catherine Auditore. It's nice to meet you. I look forward to having you around," she grinned, earning a small smile in reply. She went back to cleaning, and this time, the silence wasn't so bad.

* * *

 **06 –** _End_

* * *

 ** _TMWolf:_** _And there we go! Couple of selfish folks these Auditore *waggled finger*_

 _So, figured I'd show the scene with Claudia at the brothel since it's a bit different here. Not toooo much, but significant enough to show. Also because Ezio was like mad for a dumb reason!? I was confused in the game why he was getting mad and it seemed just for dumb drama, so I tried to make some sense with it here, having it be because he doesn't want her to get hurt and then they're both just being stubborn babies (Maria rubs her head a lot secretly)._

 _And Cat... well, she has a... potential ally. We'll see how it goes. Things are slowly rolling along, but that's because the end of Part I is fast and crazy and wild and relying on all this build up to also come into play later, so bear with me! :)_

 _If only to keep y'all reading: prepare for some cute father-daughter time next chapter! X)_


	7. The Beautiful & Damned

**TMWolf:** _Slightly early update to make up for my previous blunder ;) Been hectic lately with lots of... disappointments so things both suck but have some good, so it's been meh. Haven't written in a while, but finally got another chapter going so yay! Luckily I have a vacation coming up so that's nice XP Should still be able to update just fine, though so no worries ;)_

 _Thank-you for your review! They mean a lot, so feel free to leave any comments, questions, critiques, or whatever! :) I love to reply to everything so have at it! xD_

 _Today's title comes from G-Eazy - The Beautiful & Damned. It's a good song, with a perfect title fit for this chapter I think :'D_

 _Now time for father-daughter moment!_

* * *

 **07 –** _The Beautiful & Damned_

* * *

 **March 2, 1500**

 **Rome, Italy**

"Why didn't you tell me you had Diana? Or that you spoke with my sister and mother?"

Machiavelli paused as they stepped into the main entryway of his _palazzo_ , turning to face the Assassin, whom had pulled his hood down now that he was in safe company. The man regarded him for a moment, perhaps mulling on his words, and then motioned to his fellow Assassin.

"I did not want to worry you—or to distract you from your goal."

Ezio frowned, "My _daughter_ is not a _distraction_."

"Except, she is," he replied at once, holding up a hand to keep the Auditore from barking at him. "I do not mean that as an offense, Ezio. Only that I know she is precious to you, and _because_ she is so precious that I thought it best to bring her here when your mother and sister came asking for you. She would be safe here, as would your nephew and your maid. I could give them a place to be free and recover while you worked. I did not tell you because I knew you would worry despite their assured safety. Your love for your family is strong, but your will to free the city and save your wife _must_ be stronger. Diana would hinder this goal. Even now I wish you had not learned she was here, but the past cannot be undone, and I only hope you will be able to continue focusing on the task at hand."

Ezio wanted to refute the man's claim, but the more he spoke, the more sense it made. At least when he worried for his wife, it was a common goal. Getting her back meant fighting the Borgia, weakening them if not destroying them in the process, which was good for everyone. But Diana? Worrying over her would make him more cautious and distract him during his ventures. He knew Catherine could handle herself, even if he did worry, but his little girl was just that: little. A child. She didn't know how to fight. She couldn't run or hide like they did. She would be defenseless, and the thought would always linger in the back of his mind if he had known from the beginning.

And now, it had come to pass, and the thoughts would plague him in the quiet moments—even if this was, with certainty, the safest place she could be right now.

"You're right," Ezio sighed at last, and his comrade gave him a smile.

"She _will_ be safe here, Ezio. They all will. No one—not even the Borgia—suspect anything, and my family quite like her. Giovanni is impressing them, and Annetta is proven herself quite resourceful. They both put Diana at ease as well," Niccolo chuckled as he grasped the Assassin's shoulder warmly. "As for your mother and sister… I had hoped to keep them here in secret as well, but they stayed only a few days before they demanded to help you. Your sister is as stubborn as you are—."

Ezio snorted, "I _know_."

"—And your mother was adamant. They would have helped you even if I argued against it and forbad they leave. Besides, your mother is knowledgeable in our ways. She is a more powerful ally than you may realize, and your sister is strong as well. You should not doubt them."

"I… It's not that I _doubt_ them," he rumbled, no longer looking at Machiavelli, whom raised a brow.

"Then why do seem so upset? They will make invaluable allies with the courtesans, and they are family to you. This ensures their loyalty, no?"

"I don't want the Borgia to turn their eyes on them—not a second time," Ezio ground out.

"Ah," the nobleman hummed, tilting his head thoughtfully. "A reasonable concern… but you forget: Cesare Borgia intends to control _all_ of _Italia_. If he learned of your escape, your family would never escape his gaze during his conquest. Your family could sail beyond the horizon, and still he would chase them like a mad dog so long as it meant bringing you to heel. Your family is safest here, in the end, fighting against our enemies and using his secrets and his men against him."

Ezio scowled for a moment, and then sighed, "I am beginning to hate your wisdom, Machiavelli."

"Such is the curse of knowledge," he chuckled back. "Are you at ease then?"

"No… but I suppose I will never be until the Borgia are dead. I can only take solace knowing this is for the best," the Assassin rumbled.

"Perhaps it will be easier once you see your daughter," Niccolo chuckled again and gestured for his comrade to follow. Ezio allowed himself one more sigh before tailing the man to a door that he pushed opened to reveal a large room. It was a library with walls lined with shelves full of books. A few tables were spread about along with a couch and armchairs for anyone to use. There was even a second floor with a railing and more books at anyone's disposal. Ornate paintings, tapestries, and other decorations could be found throughout the room, illuminated by the bright sunlight that shone through the ceiling-high windows.

It was there, in the middle of the room, he spotted his darling Diana, whom sat on the lap of her cousin, Giovanni. He looked well considering all the happened, although he wore his arm in a sling and he imagined there were still bandages underneath his rather regal tunic. He had fixed himself up well, and Ezio knew Ottavio would have been proud to see his son looks so noble. His mother, too, would be elated. Diana, however, looked like the prettiest thing he'd ever seen—besides his wife of course. She wore a noble lady's dress fit to her size, colored in a vibrant green with gold and white accents. Her reddish hair had been put up a little plainly, but with lace wraps colors a golden shade. Her hazel eyes were lit with delight, and her smile made her freckled cheeks rise high. She was so much like her mother in how she looked; Ezio's heart could not help but throb.

When she spotted him, she gasped, " _Papa_!"

Giovanni chuckled as she leapt from his lap and scurried across the room as fast as her flat slippers could take her. Ezio was there to meet her, crouching down so she could throw her arms around his neck, and then he brought her up with him. It was how he would always greet her, and not even the Borgia destroying almost all he knew would stop that. She squealed with delight as he spun her around and then peppered her face with light kisses, his beard tickling her cheeks. She returned them in kind, leaving the last for his brow, and then placed her hands on the side of his head as he held her up in his arms.

"I missed you, Papa! I missed you so much! I was so worried! You left and Grandma and Auntie were scared and Giovanni was hurt and Mama wasn't there!" she went on, frowning, though he could tell she didn't fully understand. For that, he was relieved. He didn't know what he would do if he saw the despair he'd witness the day their home fell. The redheaded child tilted her head, brows scrunching together. "Papa, where's Mama? You went to get her, didn't you?"

By some miracle, he managed to smile—briefly. He turned his head to kiss her palm as she watched him with those wide eyes of hers. They were just like her mother's, and his heart throbbed with agony once more. He closed his own briefly to compose himself before grinning at her.

"Yes, I did, but I have to do some things before I can get to her. But don't worry—she's alright. Your mother is strong. Very strong. She's just biding her time, waiting for me to come get her."

"Oh… well, why can't Mama come back herself?" she inquired, head tilting the other way.

"She… she's on a mission. A very _special_ mission. She can't leave until I come get her."

"Mm… okay," Diana sighed slightly, though it may as well as have been a pout. She did so after a moment, tugging on her father's collar. "I want to say hi to her, though! I miss Mama. She hasn't told me a story since before you came home. I miss her stories."

Ezio kissed her cheek gently, brow pressed to hers, "I know, my little one. I know. Me, too. I miss her, too. But I'll get her back. I promise you I will. I swear it."

"I know, Papa. You always keep your promises. Mama said so," Diana giggled, rubbing her forehead against his. She paused, thinking a moment, and then pulled back some. "What about the bad men who hurt us? Auntie and Grandma said they were very bad and you went to stop them. They came here to stop them, too. Are they really that bad? Is Mama fighting them, too?"

"I… yes… the bad men—the Borgia… they are _very_ bad. But your mother and I… your grandmother and aunt… we're all fighting them. We're going to make sure they never hurt you or anyone again," he spoke softly, freeing one arm to brush a loose lock out the way. He poked her nose gently, earning a giggle. "You don't need to worry about them, Diana. Now, tell me… is Machiavelli treating you well?"

"Mach-ee-a-vel-ee?" the child replied, face scrunching up as she struggled. A laugh came from behind them, and Ezio turned to find Giovanni standing up at last.

"He means the nice man who talks funny. His name is Niccolo Machiavelli, Cousin. He owns this house we're staying at, cousin," the young man chuckled, and Diana gasped, eyes going wide with realization. She grinned impishly and nodded excitedly.

"Oh, yes! Yes, Papa, he is very nice! He speaks very funny and serious, but he is very nice! He let me have this dress and let me come here to read books! He has so many things—it's like back home! Giovanni is staying, too, and they talk a lot, but it's always boring. He tried to tell me about things, too, but they're boring! I don't like his stories. They're not fun like Mama's, or your stories! But I like him!" she grinned, then tilted her head curiously. "Is he your friend, Papa? He speaks nicely of you. Like he knows you. He spoke nice of Mama, too."

"Yes, he is my friend, little one. A very good friend. He is very wise, and you should listen to him more. You will learn a lot. I trust him very much, though, so you can trust him, too. He will take care of you while I am away," Ezio replied, and then quickly put a finger to Diana's lip when she made to protest. "I _must_ go, and you _must_ stay when I do. I'm still working to get your mother back, and what I do is very dangerous. You remember our stories?

She nodded, a little subdued, so he went on, "Then you remember your mother and I would face many dangers. Right now—what we're doing—is another story, and I need you to stay here and stay safe. If I know you are safe, then I can work harder to stop the bad men. Your mother, too, can come home sooner. Do you understand, Diana?"

"…Yes, Papa. I'll stay here with the funny man. I want to be with you and Mama and the others, though," she pouted, burying her head into her father's neck.

"What? I'm not good enough?" Giovanni smirked, good arm on his hip.

Diana peeked out from beneath Ezio's chin, "No, I like you, too! I just miss Mama."

"I know the feeling. I miss my father and brother, too. We should keep each other company then, no? I can't leave for a while with this arm, and with it all busted I could use some help with things. Don't suppose a lovely little lady such as yourself could help me out?"

Diana lifted her head, looking at her cousin thoughtfully. She pushed her lips out, resembling a fish some, and leaned her head against her father's. The Assassin raised a brow at his daughter, whom narrowed her eyes and hummed as if thinking very hard about it.

"I _guess_ I am a lovely little lady who can help you," she replied at last, holding her head up high.

Ezio chuckled, kissing her cheek, "You are a very kind, lovely, little lady, Diana."

"Mama told me kindness can go a long way—and I like Giovanni! He let me play with swords back home! And with Federico we'd mess around with Annetta or Auntie!" she grinned wildly, to which Ezio raised a brow at his nephew.

The young man grinned impishly, "What? She wanted to have fun, and we were bored sometimes. She's more devious than you think."

"Well, I'm just glad you're in good hands. Now I won't need to worry about you. Because you won't get into trouble, will you, Diana?" the elder Auditore hummed, giving his daughter a look. She pouted in response, puffing out her cheeks and narrowing her eyes. She could not keep staring back, though, and looked away after a few seconds.

"Fiiiiiine. I'll be nice to the funny man and Annetta. I'll help Giovanni until he is better, too," she grumbled, folding her arms over her chest. Her father chuckled, but then paused when the redheaded child suddenly grabbed hold of his hood once more. "Papa! You must read me a story! Mach-ee-a-vel-ee has so many! Giovanni is no good at telling stories."

"Hey!"

"So much for being nice to him," Ezio snickered, but headed towards the sofa where he couldn't help noticing the large pile of books along with the many others all spread about. "Alright, little one. I think I can make time for a story or two. Giovanni, care to join us?"

"Well, not much else I can do, although feels weird to be a man having his Uncle read him a story," the young Auditore laughed as he followed them over and sat in a sofa across from where Ezio did the same. Diana shifted to settle in her father's lap, leaning forward to pick up a book and hold it up to him.

"This one! Read this one! It has pretty pictures!" she squealed.

"Alright, alright, settle down then. I'll read it," he chuckled, and wrapped one arm around her waist while the other held the book in front of her. Giovanni grinned all the while, looking more relaxed than he'd seen him at the city. The scars would linger, but he looked better—or as better as one could be after losing his father and brother. Ezio knew the pain all too well, and hoped the young man could be as strong as him. At the very least, he had a strong family to support him, and his cousin was a special kind of light in the dark times. An innocence to remind them of the good in the world.

"Alright, let's see how this one starts… Ah, I see… alright then," Ezio began, clearing his throat as his daughter squirmed excitedly in his lap. "'Once Upon a Time, in a land very far from here…'"

 **-O-**

"I see you are making good use of my library," Machiavelli spoke as he approached the trio, Giovanni lounged lazily in his chair, while Diana stood on the couch so she could show off the artwork in a book she had found. Ezio, of course, made sure to be amazed by every single one, keeping a secure arm around his daughter. This, of course, made her giggle and flip the pages with almost a little too much excitement. The girl beamed at their new arrival, waving the book, and then wrapping her arms around her father's neck.

"Mach-ee-a-vel-ee! I was showing Papa your art books! Your books are so wonderful! And you have so many! I want to read them all!" she shouted, bouncing slightly.

"And you are welcome to do so for as long as you stay here. But, first, I have a guest for you to meet—if you father is alright with it," the man replied, looking to Ezio. The Assassin frowned slightly, though not too much, and stood up from the couch. Diana hopped down, too, but kept her hand wrapped within her father's fingers.

"What did you have in mind?"

"A tutor. Your daughter is seven, no? I started my own education at this age, and it would do her well to have something to keep her entertained beyond books. Any growing young lady should be properly educated, anyways. Of course, I would only do so with your permission, but I believe Catherine had already begun such lessons, if I recall correctly?"

Ezio paused, "Ah… yes, she did. I admit, I was so busy dealing with Rodrigo I did not get the chance to learn much, but Catherine did mention tutors. Leonardo was to teach her art at one point, but he was summoned elsewhere before we could see to it."

"I don't wanna," Diana huffed, shifting behind her father's legs. "I want to read and play with Giovanni."

"Oh, no, no—you don't get to use me as an excuse, little lady. I aim to go back to fighting once I am well, and _you_ need to be properly educated. Mother made sure _both_ Federico and I received an education while we trained with our swords. You're not getting out of it," her cousin spoke up, coming over to give the little redhead a look. She shrunk beneath it, pouting pitifully.

"But…"

"I assure you, it is more fun than you may think, Diana," Machiavelli smiled gently. "Your view of the world will expand, and you find there are more wonders in the world to learn of than you thought, and that they are not all found with story books."

The redhead looked up to Ezio, "Papa…"

"Diana, don't try to give me those fake tears," he chuckled as he crouched down, holding her chin gently. "Machiavelli and Giovanni are right. You need to be educated like your mother and your grandmother were. Even _I_ received an education, although I squandered it some, and now look at me! Your mother outwits me constantly, and my best skillset is in fighting bad men! _You_ need to have a better life than that."

"What if I want to beat up bad men, too?!" she snapped, though not with force. She was already beaten, but it was endearing that she tried. Ezio grinned before kissing her cheek.

"Well, we can see about _that_ when you're older. You are too young for such things. First, we must train your mind. So you will listen to Machiavelli and take your lessons and be a good student, alright? Your Mother would want you to, and think of how proud she'll be to see how much you've learned since she was gone!"

"Mm," Diana mumbled, fingers fumbling her dress. She huffed slightly after a moment, glancing at her father, and then nodded. "Okay. I'll learn things. But I wanna learn to fight soon, too. Giovanni and 'Rico did when they were little."

"We'll talk about that later," the Assassin chuckled, standing back up and looking to his comrade. "Thank-you, Machiavelli. I had not thought of that, but a tutor would be good for her. Thank-you, again, for all you have done."

"Think nothing of it. Now, if it is alright, I would like to introduce Diana to her tutor. I would have you there as well, of course."

Ezio glanced to Giovanni, recalling the young man's words, and then looked back to Machiavelli, "I need to speak with my nephew for a moment."

"Of course. We will wait for you outside. Diana, would you be so kind as to join me?" the man inquired, bowing to the little girl, and holding out his hand. The redhead looked to her father, whom smiled and gestured with his head. She took a moment, uncertainty in her features, but then released his hand to take Niccolo's. "I am honored, my Lady. Come, let us wait outside. You can tell me about what stories you read today."

Ezio watched them go, hating it even if it was only for a little while. He knew he would hate returning to _Isola Tibera_ more, although Diana would be safe. Still, he could not help the way his heart felt.

"Uncle?"

The Assassin turned to face his nephew, confusion in his features, and a hint of concern. He wasn't surprised—he had dropped it upon the young man suddenly. It was only out of concern, but he needed to ask his questions.

"You wish to fight?"

Giovanni paused, blinking briefly, but then nodded, features stalwart, "Yes. I… the battle shook me—deeply, and my arm is still in a good degree of pain, but… I intend to keep fighting. My father and brother would have continued to fight, and Mother already is in her own way. Grandmother, too. I can't simply sit around burdened by the past while those I love fight in my place. I may not be able to do as much as you or the others, but I will fight the Borgia none the less. They have taken too much from me, too."

"Spoken like a true Auditore," Ezio chuckled, reaching over to clasp the young man's shoulder. He laughed when his nephew looked at him with confusion once more. "I would not have kept you from the fight even if I wanted to. I only wished to make sure you would be alright. I… almost lost myself when my brothers and father were killed, but you are already much stronger than I was. I am proud to have you as my nephew, and I am glad Diana has you with her. I… it is selfish of me, but so long as you are here…"

"Don't worry, I'll look after her. Diana has stolen my heart as well, and I meant it when I said I will need a while to recover. My arm was nearly broken, and a part of me fears I will never swing a sword the same, but I can still fight. I will make the Borgia pay in whatever way I can," the young man smirked, clasping Ezio's shoulder right back.

"Good. I am glad to hear it, though your mother may not," the Assassin smirked, eliciting a laugh from his nephew. "When you are strong enough, come to _Isola Tibera_. We will find where best to use your strength against the Borgia."

"I look forward to it, Uncle. Until then, do not worry for Diana. Machiavelli is a good man, and he will let no harm come to her."

"I know. A part of me did not want to admit it, but she is safest here. Do try to keep her out of trouble? She does have some of me in there," Ezio winced, to which Giovanni laughed.

"I admit—part of that was 'Rico and I's fault. We encouraged it."

"I see," the Assassin snickered, finally releasing his nephew. "I will be back to visit soon. With luck, I will have more allies to our cause."

"Good luck, Uncle, and God speed," he replied, holding out his hand. Ezio grabbed it firmly, their eyes meeting with a solemn oath among men, and then the Assassin left, returning to his daughter's side.

And when he finally left her in the company of Niccolo Machiavelli, his heart was not so heavy.

 **-O-**

 **March 4, 1500**

 **Castel Sant'Angelo**

 **Rome, Italy**

"So, do you actually _like_ working for the Borgia, or are you just afraid they'll behead you?" Catherine asked as she watched Paula clean, wiping down her vanity mirror before moving onto the table. The woman turned abruptly, eyes wide. That was, truthfully, the only answer the redhead needed, but she let the woman stutter on her words as she tried to find the right response.  
"I—you—you can't just—you must not say such things, my Lady!" she rasped, shrinking down some as she worked a little harder.

"I'm not exactly one to grovel, and they want me alive, so I'm not too worried about anyone hearing me talk bad about the Borgia," she responded nonchalantly, shrugging even. The woman frowned, not at all pleased by the answer, but Catherine wasn't going to take it back. It was a test of sorts—in an odd way. Perhaps even a cruel way, but she had to see how Paula would react to certain things. Was she fiercely loyal to her enemies, be it out of fear or love or something else? Or was she being forced and wanted to be free as much as her? It was hard to tell right now, but she'd been pressing over the weeks. While nothing concrete, the maid was at least far more willing to talk than before.

"You are lucky then," she murmured before moving on to the dresser where her few clothes were kept.

"If you call being locked in a room for nine months and then praying they don't kill you as soon as your kid is pulled out of the womb then, yes, I'm lucky."

Again, the woman flinched, and Catherine felt a little bad. She was being harsher than she needed to be, but dammit it all—she had to! What choice did she have? She needed to get out of here, and she needed to do so quickly. Her belly would grow bigger with each week, and there was still nothing of her husband. Each day with no news just drove another knife into her gut—and her heart.

"I… I'm sorry. I just… I can't… this job is an honor," Paula spoke, her voice quiet and shaky.

The redhead sighed, "No, it's fine, I get it. Sorry. I don't mean to be so, uh, mean. I know you're just doing what your told, and I know what the Borgia do to those that they decide they don't like."

Paula paused, head turning slightly towards the redhead, and then continued with her work. As usual, they settled into a silence that happened quite often. Sure, the young woman was talking to her now, but it was generally in spurts. It was better than nothing, but it was still aggravating. Before Catherine had simply endured the silence and loneliness with only the Doctor's company, but now she had a taste of normal conversation again, and she was, perhaps, a little addicted. Hell, even her enemies hadn't come to visit, and she wasn't used to this seclusion.

As such, she felt a flood of relief when the young woman began to talk again.

"They destroyed your home… right?" she asked softly, glancing up then back down. "I… we… there is a lot of talk about the attack on _Monterigionni_. That was your home?"

"I… yeah. It was. Destroyed it and hurt a lot of my friends and family. I don't know how many got away."

The woman's head lowered, "I… I'm sorry. Do you… have any others?"

"No. Not here, anyways," the redhead replied, mind flickering to the dream she'd had—another memory of her life from before. It was a fleeting image, but it had been of her mother. "It was my husband, my daughter, mother- and sister-in-law, her husband and sons, and then… well, he wasn't my father. He was my husband's Uncle, actually, but he was like a father."

"Do you… think you'll see them again?"

"Not… all of them, but… my husband. I'll see him again. _That_ I am certain of," she growled, eyes hardening some. She glanced to Paula, and saw her eyes wide again, though not with fear. Rather, it might have been surprise or at least disbelief. The redhead raised a brow, a wry smile on her face. "What?"

"It's just… how can you think so? That your husband will come? You believe you can leave?"

"I _know_ I can… I just need his help, but he'll come for me. He'll figure out where I am and help me—and our child—get out."

Paula's fingers gripped her cloth tight, "How can your husband do this? Who is he?"

Catherine smirked, "You know I'm the Lady _Auditore_. Know who the Lord is? Ever heard of _Ezio Auditore_?"

"I—er… no, I haven't."

"Well," the redhead hummed, but then grinned again. "Give it time, and you will. You'll see."

"O-oh," was the girl's reply before she returned to her work.

It was disheartening to hear even a cleaning maid didn't know her husband's name, but maybe it was too soon. It had been months, though, so surely? Yet, she didn't know. Maybe she didn't go into the main city. Or maybe she did and her husband just wasn't in _Roma_ yet. The notion was terrifying, so she refused to give into it. She didn't know enough about Paula to consider anything anyways. She had to learn more first; to gain the girl's trust. Then she could figure more out. For now, she had to hold onto her hope and to her belief.

"Your husband sounds brave."

Catherine glanced up, meeting Paula's gaze. She could tell the young woman was being sincere, for all the wariness she must have been feeling. The redhead grinned a little.

"Of course. He gets it from me," she winked, and Paula, for perhaps the first time, chuckled back.

"I see. You know, you are… very strange—for a lady. Not a savage, but… odd."

"Oh-ho, getting fresh are we? Good. I like that. And I'm only a 'lady' by marriage. I'm a warrior at heart, so I'll take that as a compliment."

Paula's smile widened, "Very odd."

"You know, I think I'm beginning to like you," Catherine laughed, and the young woman laughed, too.

The silence came back again, but the air was different this time. There was a lightness to it, and once again Catherine felt the touch of hope.

* * *

 **07 –** _End_

* * *

 ** _TMWolf:_** _Oh, kitty-'Cat. You should know better than to hope with me as your writer ;)_

 _But for now go on ahead, girl. In the meantime... Hope everyone enjoyed Ezio being #1 dad. I always imagined him being this kind of dad, and he adores his kid. She's pretty sweet, and even Machiavelli enjoys her. But I say that based on the fact he EVENTUALLY has four kids, and I think he'd enjoy someone to pass down knowledge to. Maybe. He kinda is for her, anyways, haha._

 _But, yeah. So not tooooooooo much to discuss this chapter beyond putting Giovanni and Diana where they are and slowly working on Paula and 'Cat. That's a thing that's happening. Let's see where it goes, hmmmmmm..._

 _P.S. Next chapter is fun c:_


	8. Look What You Made Me Do

**TMWolf:** _Woo! That vacation was a good one and I feel recharged some. Definitely a good visit, and ready for an early-late update hehe xD So this is a fun chapter. Just fyi. It's all 'Cat this time and sets up some important things to come, so keep an eye out! :'D_

 _Your reviews are loved and I appreciate any and all who read my story! If you have any comments, questions, critiques, or what not, feel free to drop one and I'll be happy to answer! :'D_

 _Not much else to say beyond the song is from Taylor Swift. Definitely not, ah, related to the lyrics, but the title definitely fit xD_

* * *

 **08 –** _Look What You Made Me Do_

* * *

 **March 19, 1500**

 **Castel Sant'Angelo**

 **Rome, Italy**

Catherine held the broom out in front of her, feet set apart just so; enough to keep her balance, but in a such a way she could move any which way. She grasped with both hands, eyes set ahead. She breathed in deeply, and then pounced; slicing up and then in a wide swing with one arm, the other held out for balance. She bent a knee slightly, and then ducked beneath an invisible sword. She grasped hold with both hands against as she rose back up, swinging her arm up in a high arch. She spun back around to face towards her vanity, broom still set in front of her; ready to strike, but with no need to—the battle had been won.

Clapping followed, and the redhead grinned at the young woman standing by her bed, excitement bright in her eyes. Catherine shifted her grip on the broom and held it out to Paula, whom reclaimed the tool and started to sweep as she had been just a minute earlier.

"That's one swordplay stance and a few moves I was taught back home. There's plenty more to go with it, and you have to adjust for every type of sword or weapon you have. I'd throw in a few rolls, but these stones are pretty hard, and my belly is a little big for it right now," she chuckled, patting at her abdomen, which had begun to swell some as she'd said. Not too much, but enough to make it obvious she was with child. It was both a source of delight and dismay, but it was what it was. At the very least she could still wield a weapon, which was something.

"I can't believe you really know how to use a sword! I don't think I've heard of any women who do!" Paula laughed before suddenly swinging the broom, attempting to copy the motions. Her attempt was poor, of course, but she still laughed once more. "It feels so strange! How did you even come to wield a blade?"

Catherine shrugged, "Well, I wasn't really fond of becoming a 'proper' lady. I like to run around and make better use of myself. And, well, fate deemed it that way, I guess you could say. It's a lot more fun than you think. I'd personally recommend more women take it up."

"Oh, no, I couldn't! I'm certainly not made for such things," the young woman giggled as she shuffled dust towards one corner. "Mother would faint if I did! And Lord knows what my Papa might think!"

"Oh, come now. Is it really _that_ disturbing for a young woman such as yourself to swing a sword around?" the redhead grinned impishly, settling down on the edge of her bed. She played with the heel of her slipper as Paula turned to face her, a pout on her olive face.

"I'll have you know, I was raised not to be so… so… _uncouth_ ," she huffed, and Catherine clutched at her chest, right over her heart, in mock-pain.

"Ah! I'm so offended! I'll have you know, though, I am hardly _uncouth_. I prefer 'savage'."

"My Lady, please. You tease too much."

"Paula, you're pretty much my only friend here, I've got to tease you a _little_ ," the redhead snickered, pausing only to lift her feet so the maid could clean under there. "That, and I feel bad you have to clean for me. You seem too smart for this kind of work."

"I'm afraid I was not blessed to be an educated lady. My family is not poor, but not noble, either. Other noble ladies such as yourself are educated," she replied, gaze falling some.

"Well, that's silly… you would have like my home. Most any girl could be educated there if she wished it, although most did end up learning home skills, which are just as useful. Most men can't cook or sew to save their life. Hell, I had to learn to sew for Ezio when Annetta—our maid—refused because he got his shirt ripped too much one time."

Paula laughed, but then stifled it quickly, "Forgive me. You just… you speak it so plainly. I am torn between believing what you say, and wondering if you really _are_ a noblewoman."

"Just because I'm educated doesn't mean I'm going to act like most noble women. I mean, I do, when it calls for it, but I grew up around mercenaries and warriors. I prefer to throw a punch then hide behind pretty words. As the saying goes, 'actions speak louder than words'."

"'Actions speak…' I've never heard that before… It seems similar to: 'let us not love with word or with tongue, but in deed and truth'. Do you mean like that?"

Catherine paused, staring, "Uh… I've never heard that before."

"Ah— _What_? It's from the holy book!"

"The Bible? Oh, well, I never read that," she shrugged, and Paula gasped. Her eyes went almost as wide as the first day they'd met, and her face appeared to pale. Catherine raised a brow, "What? I haven't. And I don't have to. I've had more important things to do, and I don't need a book to tell me how to live."

"But—but it is the word of God."

"I don't think he minds—so as long I do my best to be a good person," she shrugged, and then waved her hand. "Look, don't think too hard on it. I'm just a fan of the Church—especially considering the man who leads their army kind of destroyed my home and killed my people for no good reason. Or, okay, my husband did attack the Pope, but he had a good reason. But he spared him in the end, so I mean… Wait, you're not going to get scared of me again are you? I promise I'm not some Devil spawn or a heretic or anything."

Of all things, Catherine didn't expect the young woman to huff a little, "I-I wasn't going to think that! I am merely… surprised. You are… _very_ surprising in many things. It is unusual. _You_ are unusual… but I do not think you are a bad person. You don't look down on me like the others, and you've faced the guards for me. You're… you're a good person, I think, my Lady."

"…Well, took you long enough to figure it out," she smirked, and was once against surprised by the young lady, whom threw her wiping rag at her. She managed to catch it and hold it back out to her, grinning. "I'm glad, though. You're a pretty good person, too. This might not be the best job for a lady, but I'd say your parents would be proud of you. _I_ would be, to have a daughter with a heart like yours."

Her smile was soft, cheeks flushing some, "Thank-you… I do try to make them proud, even if they worry for me. The Borgia are a prominent family to work for, but…"

"Scary, too. Trust me, I know. They…. Haven't hurt you have they?" she asked carefully, but, to her relief, the young woman shook her head.

"No—no, they haven't… Lady Lucrezia can be harsh, but she has not struck me. Only the guards really bother us, and this allows my family to live comfortably after the hardships we've faced," she replied, glancing to the redhead. Catherine scrunched her brows both curiously and with worry. Paula waved at her this time. "Nothing serious. Just… the Borgia are kind, but… their rule is harsh. I serve to repay our debts is all."

"Tsk. Bet it's an overpriced charge, too. Typical tyrants. Well, when my husband is finished here, you won't need to work for them anymore," the redhead snorted, folding her arms tightly.

Paula looked to her, hands fumbling with her rag, "You… you think so? Your husband—this Ezio Auditore… he will… he's fighting them?"

"Yep. Been fighting them and their kind for a long time, and we've always come out on top."

"Not _all_ the Borgia are so bad, though…"

"No, not all of them… but Cesare can't be left as he is. He's too dangerous. Lucrezia, maybe, although I'd love to punch her in the face," Catherine snorted, earning a shocked look. "What? She's the one that suggested taking my child as her own, or her brother's or something. She's not exactly in my good graces."

"My Lady is… she's not _that_ bad… she can be kind… she is just…"

"Look, unless she goes around killing people for her own gain or doing as bad of things as her brother, then she'll be fine. Ezio's not fond of killing women, nor killing those who are innocent, even if it's only in a small way."

"Your husband does strange work. What are you, exactly? I've never heard of people doing such things."

"We… No," Catherine chuckled, gaze dropping to the floor. She shook her head, meeting Paula's gaze. "It's… better you don't know our names. The Borgia will get mad, I think, and I'd rather you be allowed to keep coming back here. But just… just know that… we work in the shadows to protect the light—the good in the world. To protect people like you and your mother and father."

Paula was quiet for a long while before she answered, "The city could use people like that… I think."

"Try and keep a look out. You might find the city is changing every day, little by little… and if it's for the better, then you'll know it's us."

The young woman did not reply beyond watching Catherine for a good long while, and then nodded with one of the stronger smiles the redhead had seen thus far. It was a sight for sore eyes, and let hope press a little further into her heart. It had been hard since coming here, but it honestly felt like there was a chance—a _real_ chance. It wasn't the best option, but an ally was an ally, and if she could be swayed to the cause—if she could be willed to helping them, then Catherine could potentially escape. Or, at the very least, Paula could get word to the Assassins and her husband. If some of her allies had come here—she vaguely recalled Niccolo Machiavelli saying he would the night before the _Villa_ attack—then maybe she could get word to them, too.

Paula was a ray of light in a very dark sky, and Catherine was going to do all she could to keep hold of it.

The door suddenly slammed open, causing both women to jump. Paula spun while Catherine turned, fists clenched and body tensed; ready to spring. If it was a guard come to cause trouble, she could handle it, which was why the redhead had to pause when she saw not a guard, but a man she hadn't seen since he'd burned her city down.

Cesare Borgia.

He wasn't in the same outfit, so she almost didn't recognize him. His silver, ornate armor was now just a black tunic with a white undershirt, both lined with a rim of gold. The sleeves went all the way to his wrists, where white gloves covered his hand. His pants matched his top, brown boots coming up to his knee. A cape flowed off his shoulders, and a dark-colored hat with rims of gold to match the rest sat on his head. His eyes, though—she could never forget them. While not as harsh, the vileness was there; the empty, soulless chasm of black on white. Those eyes belonged solely to her most hated enemy, and for him she had only a venomous stare.

Worse still, her second most hated being stood behind him: Micheletto. He wore the same coat he seemed to always enjoy, although the tunic and pants beneath were different. His wicked smirk was at is always was, and she dared to think it was permanently etched there. She could smell the blood from here, imagined or not, and was doubly aware of his movement; of how he watched her like a starved beast. With but a word, he would kill her, and he would take his time doing it. Worse still, he would enjoy every single moment of it.

"Enjoying the traitor's company, mm?" Cesare asked, eyes matched against Catherine's for a moment before turning on Paula. The young woman flinched and immediately dropped her gaze.

"Be _grateful_ , Cesare—she's one of the few reasons I haven't tried to kill myself yet. You don't exactly give me much to not die from boredom," the redhead snapped, pulling the man's gaze back to her.

"My new son is not enough reason?" he replied coyly.

" _My_ son is good reason, but boredom could make me do something dangerous."

"I see," he chuckled. A silence followed, and one could very well hear a heart beat during the long pause. Then, his eyes still locked on Catherine he spat, "Get out."

Paula didn't even look the redhead's way as she raced out, leaving her bucket and broom behind. Micheletto shut the door behind her and leaned against it, hands lowering to his side. He pulled back his coat slightly, revealing a dagger on his hip. Catherine only spared him a glance before focusing on Cesare once more, whom was no better than the Devil himself right now. She could sense his presence; feel him trying to subdue her; to make her fear him. She would never submit, though. Not to him. Not to anyone.

"I trust you are treating _my_ son well?" he inquired.

"As well as any prisoner in a castle can grow a baby inside them," she spat back, and then growled, "What do you want? Get on with it. You wouldn't come here just to see how far along I am."

"Ah, so you are not as foolish as Micheletto said. Interesting," he hummed, looking over at his comrade, whom merely shrugged with a chuckle. Cesare went over to her vanity then, grabbing her chair, and bringing it back over to where he'd been before. He sat down, still facing her, and crossed one leg over the other. He motioned for her to sit, but she refused. He motioned to his dog next, and the dark-haired bastard came over and grabbed her shoulder roughly. She held back a wince as he forced her to sit and then returned to the door. "There. Now that we are being civil… It is time we spoke of your _other_ purpose."

"The Apple," she rumbled, narrowing her eyes. Within, her heart raced. Last time she'd used the Apple was when she'd combined it with the Clock and the time before, and both had caused her great agony. It had made Ezio wary when they activated it to find the Vault, but it brought him nothing but knowledge, for which she had been a little envious, but mostly relieved. However, that did not mean it would still not harm _her_ again. Others had expressed some form of pain or a headache when it would activate, and she could only believe it because the power was not for them. Or, rather, it was only meant to lead them to a message—to lead _Ezio_ to a message. The rest of them? They were unworthy, in a way, and who knew what "God"—what Isu—had put what program into it. A woman called Minerva her husband had said?

"Yes, that, but first… something else. Something my men were wise enough to bring to me after we ransacked your pitiful fortress," he hummed, rummaging through a pouch in his tunic. It took a great deal of restraint for Catherine not to rush over and slam her fist against his nose. To speak of _Monteriggioni_ so casually! As if it were but a speck! Unfortunately, her rage ebbed and gave way to shock when he pulled out a necklace chain, hooked on which was the last thing she expected: her Clock.

Her hand went to her side instinctively, only to remember she wore a plain dress, and that she had not put the Clock in her pocket before she'd raced off into the besieged city. She had forgotten it entirely in the _Villa_ , and it seemed the Borgia and Papal armies had found it in her stead. Some part of her was relieved it was intact, but the other, more cautious part, worried how the man already knew what it was. Yes, Rodrigo had mentioned her former abilities, but to recognize it was important so easily?

"My father had something like this once… I thought I had dreamed it before—that it had been a figment of my imagination, but… no… it is very real, and it seems his stories—his ramblings—of _you_ with one were true. Another 'Piece of Eden', I believe you call them? So, tell me, what does this one do? Father seemed to believe it had the power of God, but it looks nothing more than a paltry little clock."

"Even if it did work, it would only work for me," she decided to reply, taking a slim bit of satisfaction from the fact. "It's no use to you. Just a trinket now."

"Am I suppose I am to believe that? You must want it back, no?" he inquired, tilting his head slightly. Catherine might have hoped to have it back, if only to have a token of the past—a reminder of how she could overcome any hardship—but she knew better than to hold onto that kind of hope. Sure enough, he put it back into his tunic. "Ah, well. Best not take chances. Rather, let us discuss the other Piece of Eden. The Apple. _That_ will work for more than just yourself."

"Then why bother having me use it? Can't you just do the honors?" she snapped, to which he chuckled.

"Once I have learned more, I aim to do so, but why not leave it to one well versed in its powers to teach me?"

She snorted, "As if I'd teach you _anything_ about it."

"Ah, but that is beauty of it. I do not need _you_ to do anything—except touch it, that is. I know the tales. The rumors. Touch alone is enough for it to reveal its secrets, and I do not need you to do so willingly," he smirked wickedly and motioned to Micheletto. Catherine's mind raced as the man approached, grabbing her arm. She wrung back, but his grip, as always, was firm. Her mind sprinted miles in seconds as she thought of something—anything—to keep him from going through with his plans.

"Stop!" she barked, half with panic. "It will hurt! It'll—it'll hurt the child!"

Cesare held up a hand as he frowned, "Wait, Micheletto… Explain yourself, woman."

"Touching it will bring pain—to _me_ , anyways. When I've touched it, it's hurt—enough to make me nearly pass out and bleed. If it hurts _me_ , it will hurt the child _in_ me. It could maybe even kill them," she spoke quickly, all the while loathing herself for it. She didn't want to use her child in such a way, but she had to. She had to keep the Apple's power from Cesare.

"Or you could be lying."

"I'm not lying… or… I don't know for sure, but if a woman is hurt when with child, it can affect the baby. Surely even _you_ know that. Just ask the Doctor. Ether way, can you really take that chance?"

Cesare hummed thoughtfully while Micheletto's grip tightened. Catherine shot a glare at the man, but he only smirked. He was enjoying this, of course; he was that kind of man—sick and twisted. He would kill her slowly if he could, but he was more subservient to Cesare than he was malicious. So long as the Borgia commander willed it, he would let her live and not harm her beyond the new bruises no doubt forming on her arm. In a way, it made her grateful for Cesare's presence, but she still wanted nothing more than to slit his throat.

"Yes, I suppose that is true… ah, well I am a patient man, and _Romagna_ requires my attention, anyways. I had hoped to use you before that, but such is the way of things. You should be grateful to my child, Lady Auditore. It only he who spares you from me," the man mused as he put the Apple back into his tunic and stood up. His dog's grip loosened as the man approached, taking her chin into his hands. "But rest assured, once my son is born… you will show me all the Apple has to offer."

"Once _my_ child is born, I'll show you exactly what it means to deal with the Auditore," Catherine hissed, fingers clenching her sheets. It took everything she had not to hit him, her thoughts focusing on the baby in question.

Cesare chuckled, "Oh, I already know what that entails. A pitiful attempt to resist before I tear down the walls and parade your precious commander's head on a pike…. Aaah, there it is. That fire I had heard so much about. A shame Mario Auditore did not have the same flare. Hhe might have proved a better adversary. I wonder if your husband will fare any better? Oh, but he has not come, has he? Not one word of any Assassins in _Roma_. It seems he was as weak as your pitiful commander. Yes, you are alone, Catherine Auditore. Alone in my _Castel_ ; my prisoner. I wonder, though… you will be just as fun as Caterina Sforza? I quite enjoyed my time with her…"

His hand moved from her chin as he spoke, lightly brushing the side of her check and drawing down along her neck. It brushed her collar and went lower still—and then her will broke. Catherine forgot the danger and lashed out at the man, striking him clean across the jaw. He yelped in pain, and then howled when she brought her other fist around to ram it into his nose. Blood splattered onto her knuckles, and she meant to ram her knee between his legs, but a hand found her throat first and squeezed. She tried to gasp, but she could get no air as Micheletto shoved her into the bed, eyes burning with malice. She reached up, clawing at his face and trying to push her thumb into his eye sockets. He grabbed one hand, but the other found its mark and he howled in pain, but he did not release her. Black spots appeared in her vision and each breath felt too short. Struggling was useless; he was too strong and she didn't have the leverage to move. He was too far off to one side to kick, and her fingers couldn't break the grip on her neck.

"Let her go! _Now!_ " Cesare bellowed, and, with reluctance, the pressure on her neck vanished, and she gasped and sucked for air, coughing roughly. She was only given a moment's peace, however, before a new hand had her, this time around her chin, the fingers digging into her cheeks. Cesare's face was there next to hers, blood pooling down from his nose and dripping onto her dress and the bed. Pure rage was there, and she briefly wondered if the child would not keep him at bay. "How _dare_ you! How dare you strike me! When that child is born you will rue this day, you wretched whore. I will make you suffer for this, and if I _ever_ see your husband—if Ezio _dares_ set foot in my city… I will make sure you watch as I kill him slowly. But first he's going to watch me destroy you little by little. I will break you before him, and then you will watch him suffer as I break every bone in his body. You will see each other suffer at _my_ hand, and only when you can no longer speak and beg me for mercy will I finally let you die."

"F-fuck you," she managed to rasp, her voice a little hoarse. His hand released her chin, but only to slap her with the backside. She tasted blood in her mouth, her face tingling from the blow. She kept her glare up, though, staring right back into his raging eyes. He looked far less intimidating with the red running down his face—no longer the God he believed himself. Gods didn't bleed, after all. She had no doubt, though, that if she didn't carry the child in her belly or that she had no use for the Apple, he would have struck her down right then and there. He wouldn't even bother asking his dog, whom pulled out a cloth for him to wipe his face with; no, he would do it himself. Probably strangle her, too—make it slow and agonizing.

Catherine did her best not to flinch as he grabbed her chin again, and this time she latched onto his wrist, though there was no more fight in her—not right now. Breathing hurt her throat still, and her head felt dizzy from the slap. She would never surrender, however, and by his deepening scowl, she knew he saw it, too.

"If you're not careful, wench, I will kill you—child or not. Your use is not indefinite," he hissed, low and cold.

"Papa?" a voice called, and all eyes turned to the door. Once closed, it was now open; the soldier outside had entered when he'd heard the struggle, but now he was not the only one there. Beyond him, a young boy stood, eyes wide and his stance unsure; fearful even. He had dark hair that fell to his jawline, and while his eyes were dark like Cesare's, they were far kinder. Innocent. He didn't bear quite the same look as the Borgia commander, but one could see they were related. He even wore a fine tunic with red and black.

"Giovanni," Cesare spoke, frown less harsh—more so unhappy. He looked to Catherine after and scoffed, of all things. He brought her close, his voice almost a whisper, "Look what you made me do—showing such a sight to my little Giovanni. You are lucky, you know."

"What are you doing here, boy?" Micheletto growled, turning sharply. The young child flinched immediately, even shying behind the guard, whom looked nervous now.

"Leave him be… in fact, come here, my child," Cesare hummed, releasing Catherine by shoving her back. She managed to land back on her elbows, flashing a venomous look, but then sheathed it when she looked at the boy. He was reluctant, but his "father" ushered him in again, chuckling now. It was hardly welcoming with the blood still dripping from his nose, but the boy finally shuffled in—making sure to stay as far from the Borgia dog as possible. Cesare was uncharacteristically gentle as he brought Giovanni to his side, hand resting on his shoulder, pushing him close to his side. "Say hello to the woman who will give birth to your new brother."

Giovanni met her eyes wearily, a far cry from the man next to him, "H-hello."

"It's… good to meet you… Giovanni," she replied, earning another glance before the boy shied away.

"Do not fret, my little one. She and I were just… having an _argument_. Adults do that sometimes, but it is nothing to worry for. She will be a _good_ girl, and let your brother grow strong in her belly, and soon you will get to meet him," the Borgia smiled, eyes falling on the redhead, whom withheld her glare. She couldn't bring herself to do it to the young Giovanni, his face so pure, but she understood the veiled threat. Even a blind man could have seen it.

"I… I can't… w-wait for my… brother," the young boy spoke, but wouldn't meet her gaze. He refused to look at Micheletto, whom had not stop glowering at the young man. It was all so very strange, and Catherine couldn't help pitying him. He looked more like a prisoner—like _her_ —than the son of Cesare Borgia.

"That's my boy…" Cesare chuckled, patting his head gently. "Micheletto, take Giovanni to his aunt, Lucrezia. Let her know I will come by to talk to her later."

"Of course, my Lord… Giovanni," the man called, but the boy hesitated. The Borgia dog scowled, growling now, "Giovanni, _come_."

"Go on, my son," the Borgia commander smiled, but it did not meet his eyes, even when he looked down to his boy. The young child appeared ready to run and hide more than anything else, but he ultimately nodded, kept his gaze to the ground, and walked over to Micheletto. He flinched when the brute touched his back and led him out. The guard nervously watched them leave, inching closer to the door and out of their way. Catherine, too, watched them go, and was a little surprised when the young boy looked back at her. She swore there was concern there, or perhaps just pity. Either way, she felt for him, too.

"Do not defy me again, Lady Auditore. I will not be merciful a second time—not even in front of that child," Cesare growled at her, eyes flashing dangerously. She thought about snapping back something smart, but the throbbing around her neck made her think otherwise. She still glared back and refused to back down. He did not strike her again, though, nor did he say anything else. He merely spun on his heel and headed out the door. Even as the door closed she heard him bark, "Do not feed her tonight or allow her any visitors—not even the maid."

That was fine by here. Her stomach was too twisted for any food, and she didn't want anyone to see her like this. Tenderly, she touched at her neck, and hated how weak she was; how she'd been unable to properly fight back. She should have been stronger than this—should have been able to take them on. She knew how to fight hand-to-hand, and yet that man's grip had been like iron. It would only get worse from here, too.

Cursing softly, Catherine walked over to her vanity and stared at her reflection. Already she could see marks on her neck forming, and a bit of blood had stained on her lower lip. She could still taste copper on her tongue, and when she rolled up her dress sleeve she swore there were indents of fingers on her bicep. She was bound to have grotesque bruises after this, although perhaps not so bad as her first beating, but grotesque all the same. Her cheek still stung and would probably swell a little later. She was certainly going to be a mess the next time Paula or the Doctor came, but at least her belly had been unharmed. She rubbed it gently, wishing better for the child growing within. She wished for a lot of things, actually, and wasn't sure if any of them would come true. She knew she had told hold on, but it was hard. In these moments, it felt impossible.

Catherine stifled a sob as tears formed in her eyes, the helplessness was too much. Hope seemed so fleeting once more, and she wasn't sure how much of the up and down she could take. Despair would be her company today, and perhaps tomorrow. Then maybe it would be hope. Then despair again. Hope. Despair. Hope. Despair. A never-ending game that twisted and wrung her heart and did worse to her mind.

"Ezio, please… _please_ hurry," she rasped quietly, and it was a plea—a prayer—she held onto even as she Sun set and she curled into her bed, wishing she could just wake up. Yet, when the light of day filled her room the next morning she knew her reality was the same, and despair was her companion for a good, long while.

* * *

 **08** – _End_

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 ** _TMWolf:_** _Sooo yep! There's that. Some crazy stuff going on. 'Cause, well, Cesare was kinda crazy and cruel and Micheletto is even **worse**. They are not nice men and they don't care 'Cat is pregnant, and it's going to take a lot for her to face them in her state without risking her baby... or try not to. It can be hard to remember in quick bouts of rage and her own instincts acting, but Cesare is thankfully busy with the war. Still, it's not going too well for her, and her captors only make it harder._

 _At least she has Paula, eh?_

 _Oh, and, yes, I am including Giovanni, who only shows up in little extra canon stuff, but he'll play his own little role... that and because God knows I love including characters with the same name too much. Got Giovanni Auditore, Giovanni II Auditore, Giovanni Borgia... at least it's not as bad as the Medici :p_

 _Next chapter is more fun, with a mix of Ezio and 'Cat :"D_


	9. Time Is Running Out

**TMWolf:** _So, we're in for a bit of slower chapter after the crazy before, and we're going to skip around some time a bit. Nothing as crazy as Chronos, but just know sometimes weeks or even months can go by. The Arc is steadily coming to a close, and a LOT of things are about to go down. This is kind of the crazy build up and then it gets crazier. It also gets dark, so be ready._

 _For reviews, as always I love y'all for 'em! They help inspire me to write more, and I'm always happy to answer questions, or if anyone has input, be hit historical or canon, or you find any errors please speak up! :'D_

 _In the meantime... this chapter's title is from Muse - Time Is Running Out. Definitely not related to the story theme, but the title works xD_

 _Anyways, enjoy more things going downhill! xD_

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 **09** – Time Is Running Out

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 **March 20, 1500**

 **Castel Sant'Angelo**

 **Rome, Italy**

Cesare Borgia had commanded she have no visitors, and so Catherine expected she would be alone well until the next day of his command. Already she didn't have a maid come clean her chamber pot—which she was using far more than usual now—nor give her any clean sheets, clothes, or warm food. Her stomach was left to groan with want, which she ignored in favor of pulling her knees to her chest as much as her swollen belly would allow. She'd buried her head into them, willing herself to just go back to sleep to forget it all, but it would not come. There were only memories of the day before, and the ache in her arm and throat. She hadn't bothered to look at the mirror to check the bruises—she knew they were bad. She'd preferred to remain pulled into herself instead, willing the day go by faster.

As such, she was surprised when she heard the lock jiggle. She freed her legs and swung them over the side of the bed, refusing to let anyone—even Paula, if it was her—see her in such a state. It was bad enough she had the bruises, but to seem defeated? No. She refused. She wasn't beaten yet. She could still fight them, even if only with defiance, and Ezio wouldn't forgive her if she gave up. Diana wouldn't. Claudia wouldn't. Maria wouldn't. Her child wouldn't. Mario definitely wouldn't. _She_ wouldn't forgive herself. So she steeled her gaze as she waited for the door to open, hoping it was food rather than Cesare again. She wasn't sure she could stand him right now. Or perhaps he could not stand her—it was anyone's guess.

Her stalwart gaze faltered, however, when none of her expectations were met. Of anyone to pass through the door, she had not thought it would ever be Lucrezia Borgia. Even the _guard_ looked a little surprised as the woman stood there in the doorway, eyes leering at the redhead. She wore a red, gold-accented, pompous, and even gaudy dress, the top just barely containing her breasts. Her hair was pulled back as opposed to down this time, restrained by a fancy hairnet. She had the ridiculous collar, though, and wore a necklace wielding a large cross that settled conveniently in the crevice of her bosom. She stood with one hip jutted out slightly, and her mouth twisted down in what was probably the accepted form of a frown for a lady of the highest nobility.

"Leave us," she told the guard, whom hesitated. She turned a fierce eye on him, " _Now_ , guard! Or need I remind you what happens when you defy the Borgia?"

The man did not need to be told again; he made haste to slam the wooden door shut, though did not lock it. That done, Lucrezia made a huff-like sound before regarding Catherine once more. The redhead couldn't help—for all the glaring the woman could do—considering her to not be much of a threat. She wasn't necessarily a push over, but the redhead had a feeling her bark was worse than her bite—at least compared to her brother.

"Well? What did Cesare talk about, _mm_? I see he had plenty of _fun_ ," she sneered, eyes flicking to the bruises on the redhead's neck.

"You and I have very different definitions of 'fun'," Catherine snorted.

Lucrezia stepped closer, "Answer the question."

The redhead rolled her eyes, "About what he wants with me? Seriously? Are you that concerned about what he does? Pretty sure it's no business of a lady what he does."

"Be _silent_. Was that _all_ he spoke of?"

"Oh dear, jealous of the _attention_ I got?" she spat back, lifting her neck some. "Guess you must like it rough, or does he use his fingers _elsewhere_ on you, mm?"

It wasn't meant to be a literal jab at the woman, but Lucrezia's reaction was far too genuine for Catherine to not raise a brow. She also had to raise her arm up to stop the blonde's hand from slapping her across the face. She locked her fingers around her wrist and refused to let go even as the woman tried to wrench her arm free. Venomous fire was in her eyes as she nearly shrieked, though it came out more as a frustrated growl.

"How dare you, you cur! You whore! How dare you speak to me that way!" she hissed. "What did he say? What did you talk about, hmm!? How happy he was for that little brat inside you? How he wanted _more_?"

"Oh my God," the redhead breathed, doing her best to not let the woman hit her in some way. It was a fleeting thought, or it was supposed to be, but it made too much sense. Of all the things that had happened—the way Lucrezia hung on her brother; the way her hands always touched him or caressed him; the way she looked at him and he her; the desire to keep the child; the absurd rage that had come over her at her comment.

Lucrezia was jealous. _Jealous_. Of _her_.

It couldn't be possible, but it was the only explanation. And if the blonde was jealous of Cesare giving her attention—however fucked up her concept of attention was—then that had to mean something else; something so vastly wrong it made Catherine's stomach cringe and draw back, face contorting some.

"You _love_ him. You—you're _disgusting._ "

Lucrezia's rage paused—for a split moment—and then returned even more fiercely, "How _dare_ you!"

The woman's other hand drew back, palm aimed to come across the redhead's face. Catherine was ready, though, and yanked Lucrezia's other arm down, pulling her with it. The woman gasped as she found herself half on the floor, half on the bed. The redhead quickly twisted the arm slightly, earning another short gasp that was about to become a shriek before she clamped her free hand over her mouth. The woman struggled, eyes wide as she realized her predicament. Her fingers scrambled to try and pry herself free, but Catherine was stronger. The notion made her heart race, and a rage she didn't know she'd had left bubbled within and up.

"No. How dare _you_. How dare _you_ take my home—my family! How dare you attack my people and imprison me here. How dare you try to take _my_ child from me and make him yours. How dare you!" she spat, fingers tightening both over her mouth and wrist. She heard a frightened sound come from behind her palm, but did not free the woman. "You are a fucking _disgusting_ piece of shit whore who doesn't deserve what she has. You think that man loves you? You think your _brother_ loves you? You don't know love then. You don't know what it's like to be truly loved by someone, and if I didn't want to gut you, I might feel pity, but you crossed the line when you decided to take my child.

She paused to finally free the woman's mouth, but before she could scream, she grabbed the rim of her dress to pull her close, "If you _ever_ try to hit me again, I will make sure you suffer. You aren't your brother, Lucrezia. You're _weak_. And if you forget, then I will remind you again, and again. And I know you're going to tell that fucking bastard brother of yours about this, so you tell him to come. Tell him I will gladly hit him again and again and again, and he can choke me all he wants, but he will not break me, and the more he hurts me… the more Ezio is going to hurt him. Because my husband will come for me. He will come and he will make sure each and everyone of you pays for what you've done. And you… you'll pay the worst. You'll watch Cesare die, and you'll get to live knowing it was _your_ fault."

Catherine finally let her go then, stepping back to let the woman stand. She did so slowly, refusing to meet her gaze, but scowling with defiance all the same. She wiped her lip—lipstick smeared some now—and adjusted her dress. She adjusted her posture, too, and looked more like a noblewoman once more. She turned, regarding the redhead coldly.

"You think you are brave, but I know your kind. You have been beaten. You are no more than a cornered dog. You bite, but you know it is the end," she spoke coolly, and somewhere in the back of Catherine's mind, she felt a flicker of regret. But it was small and quiet compared to her anger, so she only glared back. "The Borgia do not forget, Auditore. You will rue this day. I will make sure of it. Enjoy your time while it last. Once that child is born… once _our_ son is born… you will wish you had been a good little dog."

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see won't we? Best hope Cesare is gentler with you, Lucrezia—wouldn't want to bruise that pretty little neck of yours," the redhead spat, and although she had a good idea the Borgia woman wanted to hit her, the blonde refrained. Her eyes narrowed, but her hands remained by her side, and she left—perhaps a little too quickly. The guard called after her, only to be berated, and then the door was closed and locked, shutting Catherine off from the world once more.

 **-O-**

 **April 5, 1500**

 **Castel Sant'Angelo**

 **Rome, Italy**

Her bump was much bigger—enough so that it was obvious she was pregnant. She hadn't shown much of a belly before this, but now it was protruding out prominently. Not as much as with Diana, but her second born was on the way. She couldn't fathom how far along—maybe five months? If that was the case, it wouldn't be much longer before he came. It could even only be three more months. She prayed it would be more than that, but hoping for such things was too dangerous. Regardless, it wouldn't be long before her child came into the world and was taken from her. Then all that was left for her was to be used as some tool for the Pieces of Eden, and after that who could say what would be left? They'd probably kill her—assuming they didn't think her fit enough to be a hostage should Ezio come.

 _Should_ being the imperative word.

Catherine closed her eyes, her reflection turning to a red-tinted darkness. Four months. She'd been a prisoner for _four_ months now, and Ezio hadn't come. Neither the Doctor nor Paula had spoken of any rumors of an Assassin or some "unknown" person changing things. There wasn't even talk of Borgia influence decreasing. Cesare never seemed worried, either; always cocky; always mocking; always taunting her. There was no sign of Ezio here in _Roma_ , and it made everything all the worse. It was impossible to keep her fears at bay. Thoughts of him lying dead in _Monteriggioni_ came too often and in too many different ways. She would see him, his body tied to a post next to Mario's head on a pike. She'd see Claudia and Maria and all the others beside him. They would be in graves next to his father and brothers. All dead. And she was alone, but her grave wasn't with them. She was given no grave. She was just another forgotten soul, tossed aside once the Borgia was done with her. All her deeds and efforts gone to waste. Her family destroyed.

It was terrifying, but she couldn't let any tears falls. She couldn't even confess to Paula of her fears, lest someone hear and rip her heart in two. Not that she didn't expect Cesare to suddenly bring her husband before her, either in chains, or just as a head. She dreaded it every time the lock turned, and she would breathe a sigh of relief when it was a maid or the doctor or Paula who appeared instead. All of it served to drive her mad. Or perhaps madder. She couldn't be sure. She only knew the madness had sunk in at some point, and it was hard to think right all the time.

"What a world you're going to be born into… I'm so sorry, little one," Catherine whispered, voice threatening to crack as she caressed her growing belly.

"I'm sorry?" Paula's voice replied in her child's place, and the redhead looked over at the maid, a weak smile on her face.

"Nothing—was just mumbling. Thinking out loud," she chuckled and turned away from the mirror. She eased onto the bed slowly, unable to do much else now. Certainly, she couldn't run in this state, or chance a fight anymore. She would risk the child, although now she was wondering if it were better to lose the child than let it fall in the Borgia hands. Of course, she would banish the thought in the next moment. She could never do such a thing—not really. She couldn't give up her child. Her heart wouldn't let her, no matter how far into the dark her mind went.

"Do you feel alright? Should I call the Doctor?" the maid inquired, coming over to touch at the redhead's brow. "You look pale… you haven't been yourself lately, either, my Lady."

"Comes with being pregnant," she grinned slightly. "I take it you haven't had the chance to experience it yet?"

Paula's cheeks flushed as she waved her hand, "Oh, no—I've yet to marry. I'm old enough, yes, but… well, times are rough and I hardly meet suitors working here. A maid isn't exactly attractive… well, maybe to the _guards_ , but… those men are just… so uncouth."

"Yeah, well, they work for the Borgia. What do you expect?" the redhead snorted, earning a giggle. "Anyways… so you're not married, huh? Just you and your parents then?"

"Mmhmm. Mama and Papa wish me to marry soon, but they keep busy working as well, so they can't pester me much," she snickered. "Of course, I'd love to find someone to fall in love with. I always love hearing the poems and songs. To be in love sounds wonderful!"

"Oh, it is. Trust me. It's… it's the most wonderful thing there is," Catherine smiled gently, recalling her husband—of all their moments together.

"You and your husband love each other very much, don't you?" Paula asked softly, to which she nodded. "That's why he's coming to rescue you—why you're so sure?"

Catherine wanted to laugh and sob at the same time, but she nodded instead. Her maid—no, her friend, she realized—sat down on the bed, watching her for a moment. The redhead couldn't help wondering if the young woman could see through the façade? Did she know the madness raging within her? How every moment awake was agony, and every moment asleep was a thousand times worse? Did she know what it meant to hope and despair at the same time? She prayed she didn't, and yet longed for someone to share in the agony; to understand it with her.

"I… I wish I could give better news, but…"

The redhead waved with her hand, "It—don't worry about it. Just… you know what, tell me about your family some more. You only got to tell me about your mother, but what about your father? What does he do?"

"Oh! Well, he's always been a good carpenter, and even built some homes, but he does mostly childrens' toys. He's quite popular, and we used to do so well until the Borgia raised the taxes," Paula began, their friendship having become comfortable enough that she could speak so candidly. It was a boon Catherine cherished, and so enjoyed herself as the young woman went on and on about her childhood—when her father would let her sit in the workshop and watch him work. It was a fun tale, and it did help lift Catherine's spirits, if only a little. She even imagined how it could have been her—or rather, her own child, perhaps a boy, watching Ezio work. He'd see his Papa cleaning his blade, and then use it to strike a dummy. The child would stare in wonder and awe, amazed at how powerful his Papa was. And yet, he'd see how kind he could be, too; how he use the Hidden Blade only to protect others, and the young boy would grow to be just like him one day.

Catherine set her hand on her belly, wishing now more than ever, she could be home. That she could have Maria and their Doctor there, encouraging her; letting her know everything was fine and how it should be going; assure her the child would be healthy and strong. She wished her husband could be there, kissing her belly with such love and gentleness it made her want to cry as her heart swelled with joy. She wished he could kiss her on the lips, so happy to have created a child they longed so much for together—a creation of the love they had and cultivated. She wished for so many things, and now they could not be.

Something stirred beneath her hand, and she gasped. Paula paused mid-work, and both women looked to each other with wide eyes. The redhead felt another stir and looked down. Her heart skipped a beat and then began to hammer. Her body went cold as she looked to her comrade once more.

"I… the baby… It kicked."

"Oh! Ah, congratulations, my Lady!" Paula beamed, a smile on her face.

It should have been a joyous occasion, but no matter what she did, Catherine could not help but think her friend's smile was forced. In the end, her own smile wasn't so different.

 **-O-**

 **April 10, 1500**

 **Rome, Italy**

An inn had been a good choice. The little hovel that was the den for the Thieves in Roma looked no more than the average inn in a small town in the middle of nowhere. It would easily evade the prying eyes of any Borgia Captain and especially Cesare himself. Simple Borgia guards might come by, but they would be none the wiser, and their money would go to a great cause—all without their realizing, of course. Better yet, secrets tended to float around when drinks were involved, and the inn had plenty of ale and wine to give to their "honored" guests. With thieves all about the place, loitering in the corners, joining in the games, or causing a ruckus, no words would ever go unheard. And anything of value would always find its way to the leader of the den—the most elusive and crafty fox one would ever try to hunt.

"Welcome, Ezio, to _The Sleeping Fox_ ," the very wily creature in question called out as the Assassin strolled through the inn, having been taking in the new sights. It had been completed a week ago, but he had been busy attending to other business and visiting his daughter as the outlying buildings had also been reconstructed along with the main building. Now he approached the hooded thief, his orange attire standing out, yet blending in perfectly with the crowd.

"The inn looks perfect. No one will ever suspect its real purpose," Ezio grinned back, gesturing all around.

Volpe smirked as he motioned to an opening leading to a smaller room in the back, "The guild will be run from here. Visit me whenever you like. I should have objectives for you to pursue that will help our cause in the city."

"I will do all I can, although I must seek out Bartolomeo soon—I need to secure his aid as well," the Assassin replied as he followed the thief into the back room, pulling the curtain closed behind him. Despite the rancor out in the main area, the smaller section was fairly quiet.

"Ah, yes. You already have the courtesans with your sister and mother," the thief hummed, raising a brow when Ezio snorted. "Well, I have good news: Bartolomeo should be returning to his barracks in about a week or two, if my spies overheard his soldiers properly. What? I keep tabs on everyone—even my allies."

"For which I'm grateful, I assure you," Ezio chuckled, clapping his shoulder playfully. "Although, I hope you have no ill intention towards Machiavelli?"

"I may not trust him… but as I told you before, I trust _you_. I will always keep an eye on him, but unless there is definitive proof that even _you_ would believe, then I will hold no ill will towards the man. You have my word."

"My thanks, Volpe," Ezio replied, smiling a little as he allowed a bit of relief to come over him. He had been worried before, with the whole fiasco involving their fellow Assassin and his secret meeting. It _had_ seemed suspicious, but Ezio could not believe Machiavelli was a traitor—not after all he had done. He was only grateful he was able to keep La Volpe's trust and his gratitude with the child, Claudio, whom had been injured during an assault on the men who Machiavelli had supposedly "conspired" with. It had been a lucky break—especially for the boy, who would live with a dashing scar—but the Assassin did worry what would come later. In the meantime, though, there was another matter to consider, for which his expression grew sullener as he regarded his thieving companion, "Now…"

"On to business. You need my spies," Volpe hummed, leaning back against a stack of barrels.

Ezio nodded, "Yes… despite Claudia's work with the courtesans, all we have are rumors to go by, but… Catherine… she was taken by the Borgia. They have her _somewhere_ , but we can't figure out where exactly. Our best guess has been in the _Vaticano_ district, and I've yet to find her anywhere else, but if it's true… I've not found a good way in. Guards line the bridge and the walls of the _Castel_ , and I don't want to risk alerting them and moving her or… or worse. She's in no condition to escape."

"She was harmed in the attack?"

"No—or, rather, I'm not sure. But she's with child," he replied, and Volpe's eyes widened. "She should be months along now… trying to break her out grows more difficult with every day, and I worry…"

"This… is troublesome. And tricky. The _Castel_ is no easy place to infiltrate—even _I_ would have trouble, and none of my thieves are within the district…" he began, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "But… I will have my men scout day in and day out. We will find you a way in and confirm the rumors. Shall I commune with Claudia to compare our information?"

"Please do. I intend to call upon Bartolomeo to perhaps distract the guard—draw them away, but it is only a hope," Ezio frowned, gaze falling. It lifted when he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder.

"Stay strong, my friend. Your wife is no fragile creature. She may be with child, but she is an Assassin. We will find a way."

"Thank-you, Volpe. Truly… and do not worry. I will not falter. Catherine is counting on me—and so is Diana. I won't fail her… I only… our second child…" he began, but shook the thought away and looked to Volpe firmly. "There is another thing I must ask of you: the Apple was taken from me in the attack. I need your spies to find that as well."

"Consider it done… but—what of the Clock? Was it taken, too?" the thief inquired.

Ezio shook his head, "No… it was left at the _Villa._ I'm certain of it… and it is of no use anymore—thankfully. The Borgia, at the very least, will never have that power."

"Then my spies will search high and low for Catherine and the Apple. We will not fail you, my friend."

"Good… As soon as you have _anything_ , come find me at _Isola Tiberina_."

"Of course. And call on my thieves should you ever need them. They will not hesitate to help you," La Volpe bowed his head, and Ezio clapped him on the arm, nodding his thanks.

He left the inn then, pausing on the steps to take it all in—and the reality that his wife was _still_ captured. It pained him more than any wound to know he had been unable to rescue her, let alone find her. He couldn't even send her a message that he was here to reassure her. The guilt ate at him, and it was only his promise that he _would_ bring her—and their child—back home that kept him strong. Diana, too, kept him going; an oath to return her mother and make their family whole again. All the while, he loathed the Borgia for what they had done, and the pain they had caused his family. They had taken so much, and his only respite was that he had already taken a good chunk of the city back. Many Captains had fallen to him, and while the richer sections of the city remained tight in their grip, the outskirts where the heart of the people lay was slowly turning to the Assassin's side. They would never know it, but they were supporting the Order, and it would be the ultimate key to bringing Cesare down.

He still had a long way to go, but he would not stop until he had Catherine and his child back in his arms, the Apple safe within the Order again, and his Hidden Blade through Cesare's heart. He would ensure every single one of the bastards that had tried to destroy all he knew paid.

For now, though, Ezio Auditore mounted his horse, and made for his headquarters. He still had much work to do, including bringing Barotlomeo d'Alviano and his mercenaries into the fold. Then, at long last, they could truly begin to bring down the reign of the Borgia.

"Just hold on a little longer, Catherine. I swear—I'll bring you home," he whispered, hoping his words would carry to her on the wind, and spurred his horse into a gallop, disappearing into the night.

 **-O-**

 **April 22, 1500**

 **Castel Sant'Angelo**

 **Rome, Italy**

Catherine tried to sleep, but the nightmares she saw were worse than the reality of things, so she gave up on it. She didn't know the hour, but she'd stopped caring some time ago. It didn't matter if the sunlight lit her room or a candle did, although she had neither at the moment. When it was just her in the darkness it made it easier to pretend things weren't real—that she wasn't stuck in some tower in the _Castel_ , hoping—praying—someone would come get her. It would last maybe a little while, and then she'd feel a kick or her emotions would simply overcome her, and it'd be too much. She didn't cry so much as she had a week ago, but her throat would hitch and she'd want to sob, but what was the point? Her only way out was her husband, and now she had doubt about even that. She'd tried for so long to hold onto it, but she couldn't anymore.

Her only respite was Paula. The woman was a shred of sanity in the madness, and she longed for the few hours she would have the woman to clean her room and tell her all about the city and her life. She, in turn, would tell the young woman of her own—of her adventures in _Firenze_ and then the _Toscana_ country-side. She'd even talked of her romance with Ezio, and how it had taken _years_ to come about. Paula enjoyed it like a child listening to a fairytale—particularly when talk of battle or assassinations came about. She took the violence well enough, and even seemed to understand the necessity of it, although she was still hesitant. But she understood, and that was something. It also seemed to endear the woman to her situation, and now Paula would only leave after assuring Catherine things would "be alright". Of course, she didn't really believe it much, but it helped. Paula was her friend, and that was the one thing she needed.

If only it could get her out of here.

That was impossible, though. The guard prevented it, and Paula was no fighter. She was assertive at times, but when it came to the soldiers, she was meek and shy and afraid. She wouldn't and _couldn't_ fight, and if she dared try to help Catherine escape she could be severely punished if not killed. The redhead couldn't risk her skirting her out of the room and hoping they could evade attention. She'd considered making having her take a message, but who could the girl go to? What allies did she have in the city? Even if Ezio were here, the woman would have no idea who to look for, and Catherine had no idea where he might be. If they were in _Toscana_ or even _Firenze_ , maybe, but _Roma_? _Roma_ was practically another country.

Paula was a friend, but that was all. Perhaps it was better that way. She was a sweet girl. A young woman with a long life ahead of her. She would meet a young man and fall in love with and marry and have many children and a good life with. Not like her. Paula had much better waiting for her.

Catherine reached up to her collar, wishing her husband's necklace was there. At the very least it could have brought her comfort, but she had taken it off the night before the _Villa_ attack and never recovered it. It was yet another blow to it all, and made the tears want to well up once more.

She did not let them come, though—and a jiggle of the door handle helped keep them away. She frowned, thinking it just her imagination, but then there was another jiggle. She sat up then, bracing herself. Was it the guard? No, they wouldn't dare. It couldn't be a maid, either. Cesare, then? Perhaps Lucrezia, despite the woman never coming by since their last meeting? Or was it the bastard Micheletto? He rarely come now, but sometimes he would surprise her. Why at night, though? That was unusual.

Her questions were brought to a halt as her answer was given, and it was no one she could have ever expected: a young boy, looking worried he was about to be caught. The light of his candle wasn't much to make him out by, but she knew him. He was the young boy who had appeared during her confrontation with Cesare and Micheletto. Yes, she recognized his dark hair and dark, kind eyes. He wore a white tunic with dark pants this time, and tucked under his arm was a small cloth pouch. He paused before coming in, looking behind himself quickly, and then shut the door. He breathed a sigh of relief before looking at Catherine, his expression brightening ever so slightly.

"Good evening," he spoke, so polite the redhead nearly balked. He was so unlike his father, she could barely believe they were related except for their similar looks.

"Good, ah, evening to you, too… Giovanni, was it?"

He beamed, "You remember! Yes, I am Giovanni! I… er… wait… um, I need to… okay, right: pardon my, um… in… intrusion. I just… wanted to see you. Again. If… that's okay?"

Catherine's lip curved upward slightly, "Yes, that's alright. It's good to see you again… but, you shouldn't be here…"

"I-I know," he chuckled sheepishly, and came to stand beside her. He noticed her candle by her night stand and looked to her. She nodded, reading his silent question, and he lit the candle with his own. He set his own beside it and placed his pouch on the bed. "I just… You're the mother of my new brother. I know Papa doesn't want me to be here, but… I wanted to give my brother a gift—before he was born. I want him to know I'm happy to be his big brother."

"You're very kind, Giovanni. You remind me of your brother's grandfather… he was called Giovanni, too, and he was a _very_ good man," she replied, her smiling widening. Some part of her knew she should hate this young boy. He was the spawn of her enemy, but he was just so kind. So pure. He was the epitome of what she and her husband fought to protect. The innocence of the world. He was one of the few good things of the Borgia, and she couldn't hate him just for being born to the family. He would be the one good thing for her child.

The notion both eased and broke her heart. She could no longer deny that she would lose her son to the Borgia. She hated it. _Loathed_ it. It made her want to scream, but—at the very least—he would have Giovanni by his side. One good thing, and that was something.

Her eyes were wet as she reached out, stroking his head, "You'll be a good big brother, won't you?"

"Of course!" he grinned, but then tilted his head. "Why do you cry? Is it… did father… upset you? He can be very mean. Micheletto, too… He is… very, very mean. He says that is how the world is, but… I don't think that's right. Auntie isn't very mean. She is nice to me, and tells me she loves me all the time, though she looks sad when she says it sometimes."

"Don't worry—I'm just… happy you are going to be his brother," she told him, her chest tightening with every syllable. "He's going to be so lucky… you'll have to protect him, though. Keep him safe from people like Micheletto. He's a _very_ bad man. Just like you said. You mustn't listen to him. The world is full of good people, just like you think. So many good, wonderful people. You'll find them if you look, and not even that mean man can change that."

"Don't worry, I'll keep him safe. I'll keep you safe, too! You're very nice so I'll protect you, too. Brother will be sad if you're gone," he grinned, and Catherine bit back her sob. This was becoming too much, but she couldn't break down. Not in front of him. Thankfully, he turned his attention to his pouch and put it in her lap. "Here! I want it to be the first gift he gets… but I guess you can have some, too. Grandpa gave me some when I was very little, too. He wanted me to learn quick, so I will help my brother get a head start, too!

He paused to step back and grab his candle, "I have to go now, or Papa may notice I'm gone. He might get mad, so I have to go. I'll try to come again if I can, but I got you your gift, so that is good. Good night, Lady!"

"Good night, Giovanni. You hurry back to your room. I'll be sure to tell your brother the gift is from you," the redhead chuckled, wiping a round of tears away. The little boy beamed and slunk out as quietly as he had come, inadvertently revealing the snoozing guard on the other side. The lock clicked in place, and Catherine realized she'd hoped he'd leave it unlocked. His innocence was a double-edge it seemed, but she let it go in the face of his kindness and the gift he'd left. She regarded it for a good, long while, no longer sure she wanted to look. In the end, though, she unwrapped the cloth, and could scarcely believe what she was seeing.

Paper. Pen. Ink.

The young boy had given her paper and pen to write—for his brother to write.

Catherine let her sob go this time, and covered the items back up. She wiped her tears, but they kept coming, though this time they were not so sad; rather, there was a bit of joy in them. Hope, even.

"Thank-you, Giovanni… thank-you."

* * *

 **09** – _End_

* * *

 ** _TMWolf:_** _Aaaaaaaaaand oh look a ray of hope._

 _It would be a shame if someone were to..._

 _...snuff it out :'D_

 _Jk we'll see what happens next chapter. More shit hits the fan and Ezio gains his last allies! If you notice, there's some... minute changes at the moment on things, and even more will change as we keep going, buuut it's an OFFICIAL AU by the story plot line so we're safe ;)_

 _Anyways, until next time... the torture continues :'D_


	10. We Build Then We Break

**TMWolf:** _Aaaand update time! We are... one chapter away from the end of Act I I believe. I think it's the longest one, so the others will be a bit shorter. Kinda weird considering I do 60+ chapter stories usually xD But I did say this one was just a small sequel. Anyways, time for the shit to start getting crazy and then just getting worse yay! :"D_

 _Right, so... Thank-you for all your reviews! I seriously love that y'all are enjoying my, uh... crazy story and sticking with it to see how Catherine makes it out! Y'all are awesome!_

 _This chapter is from The Fray - We Build Then We Break_

 _Have fun reading :'D_

* * *

 **10** – _We Build Then We Break_

* * *

 **April 24, 1500**

 **Rome, Italy**

True to Volpe's word, Bartolomeo soon returned to his barracks, a former base for any mercenaries in _Roma_ , but now was home to the burly, exuberant man and his troops. The Assassin had received word from the thieves, and set out the same morning to meet with his old comrade. He had last seen him in _Roma_ during their assault, and before that had been when he stopped by while moving to this city from _Venezia_ —back when Diana was only a few years old. At first he'd only come here to fight, but now it seemed the move was permanent, which Ezio was grateful for. He needed an ally such as Bartolomeo d'Alviano by his side once more. The man was a fighter unlike any other, and his loyalty, once earned, would not be broken. His troops were quite the boon as well.

Ezio reached the barracks before mid-morning, dismounted his horse just outside the walls, at the bottom of the incline that led to the entryway. The establishment wasn't terribly impressive and looked in need of repair—it seemed many places his allies were to use were, much to his amusement and annoyance—but it looked strong. Sturdy, too. A good place for mercenaries, whom, if he were hearing right, already training hard in the courtyard. Sure enough, he found various groups of men hacking at dummies or sparring with one another all along the outside of the main building. It rose up a few stories, certainly much higher than the walls around it, which were tall to begin with. There were outposts at strategic locations along the wall, and with only one proper entrance, it would be easy to waylay enemy troops. Truly, Bartolomeo had chosen wisely.

The Assassin rapped three time on the door hidden under an archway and was greeted by the familiar face of his old comrade, who gave him the widest grin he'd ever seen.

He spread his arms out in welcome, elated, "Ezio Auditore! Come in, come in. I'll kill you if you don't!"

"Bartolomeo!" Ezio laughed with his friend, and the two embraced. They had fought too long and in too many battles together to not do so. Once parted, the man's eyes suddenly widened almost as much as his grin, and he gestured for the Assassin to pause.

"Wait here. You have to meet my wife!" he laughed before turning and headed towards the stairs in the back of the room. "Pantasilea! Pantasilea! Hmm… where is she?"

"Did you check behind the table?" Ezio smirked, motioning to the furniture that was, per the swordsman taste, set in an odd position. The rest of the room wasn't all that decorated—in fact, it was sparse beyond weapons and shields. A hearth had a fire burning, but it was all in all a very mellow space.

Bartolomeo threw a look to the Assassin, but before he could say anything, a woman emerged from the staircase. She was a fine beauty, her blue-and-gold dress made of silk threads and adorned in ornate designs that complimented her features. Her hair was a brownish color, perhaps a little lighter in sunlight, and fell short along her pale face. She was more than he expected for a wife of the infamous Bartolomeo, but he had to admit the swordsman had good taste.

"Ah, here she is," Bartolomeo spoke, his voice gentle as he held his out, as if presenting her to a crowd.

"Nice to meet you," she spoke, her voice calm and serene—very noble like. She even looked upon him as such, her eyes reflecting an intelligence as she saw far beyond his clothes and mug. No doubt she could discern a great many things most would miss.

He took her hand, kissing it gently, "Charmed. Truly."

She smiled a little as her husband stepped forward, hand raised, "Now, we talk about war."

"How goes the fight against the French?"

"Good," he nodded. "My men are holding their own."

Ezio raised a brow, "Machiavelli seemed to think things were more difficult."

"You know Machiavelli," Bartolomeo scoffed. "He—."

"We need your help!" a voice suddenly cried out, and a mercenary darted through the door. He looked to his commander, whom nodded.

"Excuse me," he told the Assassin, then turned to his wife. "Throw me Bianca!"

As soon as the blade was in his hands, the mercenary commander raced out into the courtyard with his soldier, calling may others to him. Ezio sighed softly, knowing it could be nothing good, and made to go after them. He paused, though, when Pantasilea's hand gripped his arm.

"Ezio, let me get straight to the point: the fight is _not_ going well. We have been attacked on both sides," she explained, having him walk with her briefly. "Borgia on one, French on the other. But know this: the Borgia position is weak. If you can defeat them, we can concentrate our forces on the French front."

"Thank-you for telling me this… although I had hoped it might be the other way around," Ezio frowned, earning a similar expression from the woman. He sighed again. "I need the Borgia distracted—pulled away from the city. Enough so even those in the _Vaticano_ and _Castel_ are called out."

Her brows scrunched together, "You wish to attack the _Castel_? What for?"

"It… did Bartolomeo mention my wife, Catherine?"

"Ah, yes—he did," she replied, pausing for a moment. "Was she taken?"

"In the attack on our _Villa_. We know she must be within the _Vaticano_ district, and we have heard rumors of a special guest in the _Castel._ It can only be her, but it is heavily guarded. I need a distraction to get her out. Time is running out, though. She was with child when they took her, and it has been months…"

"My God," the woman breathed, shaking her head. "I understand now… Bartolomeo was fond of your wife—he admired her, as he does you… This is… troublesome. I do not know how much aid we can give you with the Borgia, but if you help us… then perhaps it will be easier to lend it. The French are still our biggest concern, but we might spare you some troops. And who knows; killing the Borgia here might draw more out."

"I will take all the help I can get for my wife. You have my word I will deal with the Borgia," Ezio bowed his head.

"Thank-you, Ezio. Come speak to us here when it is done, and we can find a way to help you."

"I'll see you soon then," the Assassin nodded, and with his leaving, a Borgia Captain was assured death that day.

 **-O-**

Ezio scowled as he looked at his ruined sleeve, the cloth gone from his elbow down and the remaining piece was bloodied thanks to the slice into his bicep. It had been a lucky strike, but the Captain had managed to tear into his arm some—not enough to do lasting damage, at least not to his flesh. His outfit was ruined, however, and he'd need it mended if not a new sleeve entirely. He lamented it, but Machiavelli had the sense to have extra cloth made and there was a loyal, and very talented seamstress on the _Isola_. She could have it fixed in no time, and he'd need a break from his work to culminate his findings. That, and he needed to visit Diana. It had been a while, and he was eager to hear of her progress in her education, and to just hold her in his arms again. Giovanni, too, would be there, and he'd come to enjoy talking with his nephew. He reveled in the few spars they sometimes had, too; the young man was so much like his uncle Federico, and in some ways the bouts took the Assassin back to _Firenze_.

He shook the memory away as he came upon the barracks, reminding himself he had to confirm his new allies could help him before he considered such things—to allow himself such a moment of respite. Although, that alone could make him feel guilty; knowing his wife would have none wherever she was held, while he would sometimes be allowed to breathe easy. There was only so much he could do, though, and most of it was a waiting game—an agonizing one. Every new day without the love of is life was draining, and it was only his daughter who could make him feel even a flicker of life again.

Ezio dismounted as he entered the gates, not far from where Pantasilea and Bartolomeo stood, the mercenary leader having already returned from his skirmish. The woman was tending to a cut on his cheek, and he could not help but feel a pang in his heart. He missed the touch of his wife; missed the days she tended to him and gave him a little pout for getting into trouble. He could still clearly see the worry in her eyes when she asked of the wound Rodrigo gave him. Such things hadn't seemed so special or important before, but now? Now he longed for them, like a starved man for food.

He did his best to smile as he approached them, Bartolomeo releasing a deep, raucous laugh. He held himself high, looking to his wife briefly, whom smiled gently—lovingly, in fact—back at him.

"Ezio! We sent those fucking cowards running for the hills!"

"Yes, we did," the Assassin mused, sharing a quick, secret look with Pantasilea, whom smiled coyly.

"Now that the Pope's dogs have fled, I will be able to draw more men to the fight," the mercenary barked, his chest thrust out proudly. "I can already see the hoards who will come running to join us!"

"Good—I will need their aid, if you would allow it," Ezio replied, bowing his head slightly.

Bartolomeo raised a brow, "Of course! But what cause has you coming to me?"

"His wife," Pantasilea spoke up, and her husband's eyes widened before his brows scrunched together again. She went on, "It seems Catherine was captured by the Borgia. They believe she is held within the _Vaticano_ —particularly the _Castel_. Ezio hopes we might be able to draw as many soldiers away as possible to allow her to escape."

"Bah! Easy enough… but I admit, I am surprised: surely she could escape on her own? Although, that does explain her absence. You two are never apart," the man rumbled, rubbing his jawline.

Ezio's frown grew deep, "She's with child—heavily by now. She could not escape on her own—not without help… but there has been almost no word of her, even with rumors, and getting into the fortress has been impossible so far… but _La Volpe_ is searching for a way in already, which leaves the guard. Getting in will be simple enough, but even I have my limits fighting against a large force, and I will have Catherine to worry for. I need as few men to deal with as possible."

"Say no more," Bartolomeo spoke, raising a hand. "You are both dear to me, and you have aided me more than I care to admit. I can tell my wife would not let me refuse anyways, so my men and I are at your disposal, though it will take some time."

"I don't _have_ much more time…"

Pantasilea touched his arm briefly, "You need time to heal your wound to begin with, but you must understand: our own forces must recover from this skirmish, and we will need more men to create the distraction you need. We have to draw Cesare and his armies out, and they have not considered us a grave threat—not until now. It should take perhaps another month before we are ready. I realize this is not… opportune, but you need a way in first, no?

Ezio nodded, so she went on, "Then have faith, Ezio. Your wife, if my husband has not embellished details, is _strong_. She will hold until you come, and you will have her—and your child—back. You cannot rush things, either. Catherine's life and the life of your hild is at risk, so you must approach this carefully. That goes for _you_ as well, my love."

"Tsk!" Bartolomeo scoffed, looking away, but sighed in defeat a moment later. "My wife, bless her, is right. I would rather go charging in now and take the _Castel_ , but it would be suicide. I need to improve and reinforce the barracks—give a place to support my troops."

"You have a plan for it?" Ezio inquired, relenting to their logic, though he hated it. He was tempted to simply go and barge in the front door at this point, but there was too much risk. He could not ensure the Borgia would not slaughter his Catherine if he made himself known.

"Yes—I leave it to you," the man smirked, causing Ezio to balk. He laughed, clapping his good shoulder. "You are the educated one. I have no eye or mind for it, so you approve the plans."

"You give me too much credit… Alright," the Assassin chuckled, shaking his head. "But, in the meantime… keep an eye on Cesare and Rodrigo's move. I want nothing more than to kill the man, but getting Catherine out will be easier with either Cesare or both of them gone. I need your men to track them for me."

"Of course. What else do you think we do out here?" the man smirked.

"Good… come to _Isola Tiberina_ with any findings—and when you are ready to make our move."

"I will ensure he does so… May God be with you—and your wife—Ezio. Our prayers are with you as well," Pantasilea smiled gently, and Ezio returned it.

"My thanks, my Lady. I hope He is with us, too."

 **-O-**

 **April 29, 1500**

 **Castel Sant'Angelo**

 **Rome, Italy**

"You know, my Lady, I don't know much of your mother and father—you rarely speak of them," Paula mused as she finished wiping down the last of the stone floor and wrung out her rag. She moved to the vanity, sitting down in the chair as she always did, and had the rag at the ready in case someone came in. No one really seemed to mind she spent hours—perhaps one too many—cleaning; she was obviously just doing a good job, and not speaking so plainly or in a friendly manner with the Borgia's prisoner. No one knew how much of a life-saver she was for the redhead, who smiled sadly in reply to the young woman's comment. Paula, having become rather astute, gasped slightly, and lowered her gaze. "Oh, no—I'm sorry! I didn't… I didn't realize they had… passed on."

"Oh. Oh, no—or, well, my father passed many, many years ago, but my mother was still alive when I came here—to _Italia_ ," Catherine chuckled softly, which received a perplexed expression. Once, letting slip she was not native to this country might have worried her, but she had almost come to think her cover story was true sometimes. Of course, she would never tell Paula she was a time traveler, but it helped that story seemed so impossible. It was only her memories and her stolen trinket that ever reminded her she was from a time that had yet to pass.

"I'm from England, originally. My mother married an Italian man, and we moved here when I wasn't too old—hence the lack of accent. My father was a banker of sorts, and we lived in the country near _Firenze_ … somewhere in _Toscana_ , I can barely remember where. But when my father passed she decided to return to England. I followed, for a time, but then returned to _Firenze_ where I stayed with my husband's family—he was a friend of my father, you see—and then moved to a place outside the city, to stay with my husband's Uncle. It was for my safety, as there was unrest in _Firenze_ , but I ended up staying there, in _Monteriggioni_ , and I never came to regret it."

"That's so fascinating! You must have been so terrified to be on your own, but-what of your mother? Have you never seen her since?"

"Well, it's… hard, being she's in England. She can't visit much, but we wrote letters. I don't get them very often anymore being so busy with my, um, work, and I imagine it's possible she passed away without my knowing, but…"

"Oh, that's awful! To think she had _passed_! And you wouldn't know!" Paula cried, hands pressing to her face.

Catherine smiled gently, "It's alright. We weren't terrible close by the time I came back. I was always more like my father, but… I do miss her—when I dream about her, I mean. About our family when I was younger. I haven't done that for a long time, actually… but I've been remembering more lately."

"You must be homesick," the young woman replied softly, her expression full of the same pity she always showed. It was both comforting, yet like a stab to the gut. She hated yet craved it; the empathy of it. Paula was the one person on her side, yet her inability to do anything for her made her loathe the woman at the same time. She could come and go as she pleased, while she was _stuck_ here. It wasn't fair. Catherine refused to succumb to such petty feelings, though, and forced herself to appreciate the looks and the small measures of kindness Paula would give her—such as now, in their little talks; these precious moments of clarity.

"I suppose so… I do miss Ezio and Diana terribly. Claudia and her boys and Maria, too. And Mario…" she spoke, almost at a whisper. Her hands clenched at her dress as she fought back tears. They came more than she liked and felt more pathetic for it. But what else could she do? Even after Giovanni's kindness she could not think of any way to use the paper. There were no pigeons, and there was no way to get a letter out without being caught. Despite the boon, she was no better off.

She hated it.

"Ah… I… I'm sorry… I… I don't have anything I can do to help you. I wish—God, I wish I _could_ , but all I can do is pray, but… but it seems He has not heard, but you just… you don't deserve this. You shouldn't be here," the young woman rasped, looking on the verge of tears herself.

Catherine forced a smile to her face, "Don't cry for me, Paula. It's not your fault… and you've been good to me—more than I could ask for. I'm pretty sure I haven't lost my mind yet thanks to you."

"Still… you've been just as kind. No one here or in the city speaks to me like you do, and the world you've shown me with your words… there's so much out there I never knew about. I wish to know so much more now. I have dreams I never thought I would have! I would ever have thought I should ever try to move beyond these walls if not for you," she replied, coming over to sit on the bed and take Catherine's hand in hers. "I cannot save you… but at the very least let me cry for you or—or do _something_ , however small."

Catherine squeezed Paula's hands, more grateful now than ever the woman was there. Still, there was nothing to be done for her situation. There was no point hoping for it. So she forced her tears back, and cemented her smile on her face.

"Well, I wouldn't mind hearing any news—any good rumors in the _Castel_? And how fares _Roma_?"

"I can do that," Paula chuckled, albeit weakly. She settled down as she thought, humming aloud. "Well… the city seems… happier? People look less frightened, and it seems like less and less soldiers are harassing us. Yes, it's been very lively lately, and I've heard rumor there's trouble in the country—something about a fight going on. I heard even the French are involved, which is… well, scary. They've been so close lately, and many worry they hope to conquer us while Cesare is doing the same for _Romagna_. It's all very strange, but, um… hmm… as for here… Oh!

Paula jumped up slightly, clapping her hands together, "Oh, we had a special guest come here, although, I think he's staying somewhere in the _Vaticano_. A very somber man, but in very fashionable attire. He carried himself very well, but his face was so stern. He looked like he was trying to intimidate you, but also understand you at the same time? It is hard to explain. I think… I think a guard said he was Sir… Machi? Machivel? I didn't fully catch him name, but—oh, my. You've gone pale. Are you alright, my Lady?"

Catherine's heart raced a million miles an hour, but it was nothing compared to her mind. She couldn't believe it, but Paula had given her a life line. A God. Damned. Lifeline.

Machiavelli.

Niccolo Machiavelli.

He was here. In the _Castel_ , or at least somewhere nearby. He was a visitor to the Borgia. They didn't know his true allegiance—she refused to believe he was a traitor, not after everything—and so he could come in here safely. Did the man know she was here? Had he come to rescue her? No, he would have sent Ezio to do that. Was he trying to create a distraction then? No, no; he would be smarter than that. They both would. Ezio could get in here without Niccolo's help, so then he most likely didn't know she was here. She had to get word to him then. She had to let him know where she was so he could send Ezio to her.

She could out.

She could escape.

Her child could be free.

She could see her little Diana.

She could see her family again.

"My Lady?"

Catherine's gaze, originally staring straight into her sheets, shot up to Paula. The woman flinched, but then the redhead turned so she could reach beneath her pillow. The other maid had thankfully failed to notice the hidden parchment, which she pulled out now. From it she removed the paper and writing ink—her friend gasped in surprise—and quickly scribbled words down—to let her fellow Assassin know she was here, and to send help. Quickly. It was done sloppy, but she had no time. She couldn't risk anyone coming in and finding it. She made sure to add Paula was a friend, though, and could be trusted, and made doubly sure she didn't name Machiavelli. She couldn't risk him being found out either.

As soon as she signed her name she held it out to her, practically shoving it into her hand, not caring it might have smudged some words. Paula stared at her, eyes wide, and no doubt her heart racing, too.

"Find that man—Machiavelli. Niccolo Machiavelli. That's his name. You _have_ to find him. Either in the _Castel_ or in the district. Just _find him_. Get him this letter. He'll help me. He can get me out. Just get him the damn letter! _Please_! This is my only hope, Paula! My _one chance_! _Please_!" she rasped, eyes welling up once more. Her friend stared long and hard, unable to form words although her mouth open and closed. After a long moment, though, she finally pressed her lips firmly together, pulled the letter close to her chest, and nodded.

"Yes. Of course. I'll find him. I promise," she spoke, and Catherine felt relief for the first time in a long time. She rubbed at her eyes as Paula stood, folding the parchment and putting it into her dress. "It seems God heard my prayers after all, my Lady. I can't promise I'll find him today or tomorrow, but I _will_ find him. I'll see you freed from this awful place."

"You'll come with me—I can't leave you here. We'll make sure you get out, and you can start a new, better life. Your parents, too," Catherine smiled, sincerely this time, and Paula's face brightened.

"Yes… Yes! I can't wait. Just hold on, my Lady. You will be free," she spoke, and then, caught up in the stupor, she made for the door. She paused, remembering to collect herself, though, and spared Catherine one finally look—this time of hope—before she left. The door was locked not a second later, but this time it did not drive a knife into Catherine's gut. Rather, she took courage from it. Soon—very soon—Ezio would come for her, and she and her child would be free.

 **-O-**

 **May 1, 1500**

 **Rome, Italy**

Diana laughed with delight as she was picked up and spun around in her father's arms, just as he always did when he was able to visit. He pulled her close to his chest after, keeping her cradled in one arm so she could wrap hers around his neck. She peppered him with kisses as he walked over to the sofa in the library, their favorite meeting place. Giovanni was already there, lounged like usual, and looked far better than he had months ago. His arm was fully healed, and he'd been practicing with a blade recently. Even Machiavelli seemed sure the young man was back to full health, which was both good—and a little sad. It meant his nephew would be leaving to fight soon, leaving Diana alone, and Ezio knew he would worry.

"Uncle! Good to see you. We were beginning to worry you wouldn't come this month," the young man chuckled, a book in his lap. Despite preferring combat, his mother had ensured he was educated, so he enjoyed a book every now and then.

"I've been very busy—but we've made good progress. I've managed to get Bartolomeo's aid now," Ezio replied as he sat on the soda, Diana squirming so she was in his lap, her back to his chest. She tilted her head to look back up at him, brows scrunched.

"Bartolomeo? Who is that, Papa?"

"An old friend. You met him when you were only a few years old, so you might not remember him. He tossed you in the air, and your mother almost hit him for it," he grinned, pinching the redheaded child's cheek. She giggled, slapping at his hand.

"How is Mama? It's been so long since I saw her," the girl pouted, head drooping. Ezio gently took her chin and tilted it up again.

"Don't worry—she's alright… she'll be back soon, too. Everything's almost ready, and she'll be back. Just you wait, little one," he smiled, kissing her forehead.

"Okay. Good! I wanna show her all I've learned! I'm learning numbers and more words—Machiavelli has me learning French now! Latin was easy! He says I still have much to learn, though."

"Diana's pretty smart—she's a lot further along than Federico or I were at her age. Even Machiavelli praises her," Giovanni snickered. "She's a troublemaker, though. I think her tutor is on the verge of quitting because she keeps pulling pranks. She does well in her studies, though."

"She takes after me, I see," Ezio snickered as Diana grabbed a book and held it up to him eagerly. He opened it for her, setting it on his knees. "And you? How's your training? Diana, how about you read me the story this time? Try in French."

"Ugh, _fine_ , Papa," the girl huffed, and began, struggling here and there. Ezio helped her with the word and let her go on. Across from her, Giovanni set his book down and shrugged.

"Fine. I don't feel pain in my arm anymore. I imagine I'll leave here soon and take up the fight."

The Assassin raised a brow, "Do you know with who?"

"Well, I didn't—until now," he hummed, and Ezio's brow rose further. Giovanni chuckled. "Bartolomeo d'Alviano. You always spoke highly of him, as did Father and Mario. I figure, of all people to join, he would be a good choice. I'm a swordsman at heart, and he has an army of such men."

Ezio did not reply at first, instead helping his daughter with another word yet again, and entertaining her excitement as her favorite part of the story came up. As she continued, he watched his nephew carefully. There were no signs of hesitance; the young man was sure of himself and what he wanted to do. The Assassin could only sigh, sinking back in the sofa a bit more.

"You're nineteen—your own man, Giovanni. God knows I had to grow up and make hard decision at _seventeen_ , so I have no right to judge. But—," he paused to look the young man straight in the eye, "—did you tell your mother?"

His face said it all. The young man squirmed in his seat, refusing to meet his Uncle's gaze. He rubbed the back of his neck, and let out a deep, almost nervous sigh.

"No… I didn't… and I don't want to, but… I know I have to," he grumbled. "I've been working on what I want to say, but… I know she'll worry. She'll cry, I imagine… and I suppose it's cruel of me, but… I can't deny my purpose. I am a _fighter_ like my father and grandfather and Uncle and _you_. Sure, I don't do the Assassin work or kill politicians or jump across rooftops, but if my sword cutting down one Borgia soldier helps the cause, then it's what I want to do."

"Then hold onto that, Giovanni. And remember you are Auditore. The blood is in your veins, and we are _strong_ … And I can see about introducing you to Bartolomeo personally."

"Thank-you, Uncle. That means the world to me," the young man smiled, though had to laugh when Diana puffed her cheeks out and slapped the book against her father's lap. She hadn't failed to notice he wasn't paying attention, and so he apologized profusely before getting back into place. He looked to his nephew, though, whom gave him an impish grin.

"Remember, Giovanni: tell your mother."

That shut the boy up quick, and Diana could tell the story without interruption, much to her delight.

 **-O-**

Ezio was reluctant to leave Diana that day, but he had to return to _Isola Tiberina_. She wasn't happy about it, either, but she had become accustomed to it, although she made him promise he would let her come live with him one day. He assured, once Catherine was returned, they would, and he used all his power to not let her see through his façade. He had managed to keep it up with the notion he was building his Order slowly, bit by bit, and each gain was another flicker of hope, but it was hard. No child should endure what she did, and he was eternally grateful to Machiavelli for taking care of her. He could ask for no better man to care for his child while he worked.

Now the Assassin found himself back in his headquarters, looking over his map of the city; marking which towers he had rid of Borgia markers—a sign to the people the Captains were gone. He checked where his allies were as well; spots _la Volpe_ had informed him where his spies lounged; prominent spots for Claudia's girls, and also where Bartolomeo had mercenaries, both in the city, and in the countryside. The numbers weren't large yet, but they would improve in time. He only lamented that _Roma_ was large—more-so than any city they had visited, and it was difficult being the only Assassin working. If only there were more of them, then perhaps it could be easier, but who would take up such a role? Oh, there were other Orders out there, but here in _Italia_ he had worked alone with his Uncle. Even his father had done it alone, but that no longer seemed enough.

The Assassins needed to grow again.

 _'First, though, Catherine. We're so close now,'_ he rumbled silently, tapping a finger on the marker of the _Castel_. His sister was supposed to be coming soon, hopefully to confirm the rumors. If they were true, then all that was left was the thieves giving him a way in, and Bartolomeo finishing his preparations. He was both relieved, yet more anxious than ever. He was so close, yet so far. Catherine was there, waiting for him. He knew it deep in his soul, and it crushed him to know she was still too far for him to reach. What had the Borgia done to her all this time? Had they tortured her? Had they harmed the child? Had she _lost_ the child? Was she in chains? Was she healthy? Was she _alive_?

No. No, she was alive. He refused to believe she wasn't. He couldn't let her down like that. He couldn't let Diana down like that.

"Just a bit more…"

A door slamming brought Ezio's gaze up from the map to the main entrance. He figured it was his sister, and so braced himself. Despite having more than a few meetings, his younger sibling had not settled down—and neither had he. They were constantly snapping at one another whenever together at the brothel, and it was only their mother stepping in to appease both sides that got most of anything done. He knew he was being childish, but his pride wouldn't allow him to back down from his words from the beginning of it all, and it seemed she was the same. He still didn't like her as a Madame, either. The brothel was no place for her _or_ Mother, but she insisted. It was frustrating, but he would let it slide this once—if only for his wife.

"Claudia," he hummed when, as he expected, his guest was none other than his sister. She wore her usual garb and her usual scowl, and so he readied himself for some quick jab of words.

To his surprise, he received a slap instead. He had no time to react, and stared, blinking foolishly, and touched his stinging cheek. It was then he realized his sister had tears in her eyes, and her face was flushed with anger.

"How could you! How could you! How could you, how could you!" she shrieked, the tears coming faster.

"Claudia—," he rasped, but she began to hit at him with weak blows.

"You sent him away! You did this to him! To _me_! How could you!" she bawled, still throwing her arms at his chest. He caught them after another strike, and though she struggled, there was no real strength behind it. "You bastard! Why did you do it!? Why did you let Giovanni go!? He's all I had left!"

Ezio silently groaned, closing his eyes and letting his shoulders slump. So. That was it. His nephew had told his mother. Despite his confidence before, regret ate him now. He might have been at odds with his sister, but this was not what he wanted. He hated her tears more than her stubbornness, and though Giovanni had already made his choice, he had given it power.

"Claudia…"

"No! Don't you dare make excuses! You should have told him to _stay_! You should have kept him from fighting! I already lost a son! I already lost Ottavio! I _loved_ him! I loved my boy! And now they're gone, and you let my only boy left go! He's going to fight and get himself killed and you did _nothing_ to stop him!" she howled, her struggles done, but the tears still flowing.

"I couldn't have changed his mind, Claudia. He was determined. You know he was. He's like his father."

She glared so fiercely she was able to wrench herself free, "No—don't you _dare_ tell me what Ottavio was like! How would you know? You were never home! You left me alone there all the time, and he was all I had! Federico and Giovanni and Ottavio were all I had with me while _you_ were off with Catherine 'saving' the fucking country! Ottavio and Federico were _always_ there and now they're _dead_! You don't know anything! You haven't lost _anything_!"

" _Mother_!"

Both Auditore siblings jerked, Claudia spinning to find her son there in the entryway, panting lightly. A sob escaped her throat, and the young Giovanni sighed softly. He approached, but she backed up a step, shaking her head. He still came for her, and eventually she stopped retreated. He embraced her, wrapping his arms tight around her so her head buried into his chest. Her sobbing went on in full, still audible despite being muffled by his vest. Ezio watched on somberly as the young boy comforted his mother, whispering and cooing gently to her. It took much too long for her to finally settle down, and all the while the Assassin's guilt continued to eat at him.

After all—what _did_ he know of her pain? All his children lived, and his wife was definitely alive. But her boy Federico? Her husband? She had seen nothing of them. No signs. After the attack they endured, it was inevitable they had perished. Giovanni was all she had left.

"Mother, this is my choice, and mine alone. Father would have wanted me to fight," he spoke softly, caressing her hair. Finally, she pushed away, wiping her tears, and shaking her head.

" _I_ don't want you to fight! I want you to stay here—safe!"

"I can't, Mother. I _can't_. The Borgia stole them from me, too, and I want to get back at them… but I can't do it like you can. I can't run the brothel. I don't have the finesse for it, and I'm more liable to invest back into the business by spending it on the women there, you know that," he chuckled, managing to get a small one from his mother, too. "I'm not good at that… but I'm good at fighting. Father trained me well, Mother. I… I was scared in the attack on our home, but I'm ready now. I'm ready to fight and to face them, and Bartolomeo is a good man. A strong man, too. He'll train me. Make me stronger. I won't die."

Claudia looked into her son's eyes, reaching up to touch his face. He leaned into it, his smile kind and loving, but his eyes just as sad as hers. Determination was there, though, and they all knew it. The young woman closed her eyes, taking in a deep, shaky breath. Her hand fell to her son's collar, which she gripped tightly.

Opening her eyes, she gave him a harsh stare, even as tears welled again, "You promise me—you come back alive. You will fight, but you will not die. You will come back to me when all this is done; when the Borgia are gone and we have our vengeance and we are free… you will come home. Don't leave me like your father and brother. You must be better than that."

Giovanni made a sound torn between a sob and a laugh and hugged his mother once more, "I will, Mama. I promise."

"Good. You're a good boy," Claudia huffed, wiping her tears away. She took a bit more to calm down, her son rubbing her back gently as she sniffed and kept wiping at her eyes. When she had contained herself just enough, she turned to her brother, glaring more now than appearing upset. "And you—I expect you to look out for him. If he is harmed, I'll… I'll…"

"I won't let that happen," Ezio replied quickly, sincerity in his voice. It tempered her some, but not much.

"Mother, tell him your news. He needs to know," Giovanni spoke up, and his mother paused, biting her lip briefly. She shook her head, though only to clear her head, and turned to face her brother fully.

"We confirmed it—a nobleman from Cesare's inner circle came by, and he made mentioned of a woman matching Catherine's description. Better still, she was called the 'conquest of _Monteriggioni'_. There is also talk of Cesare soon to have a new son."

It took only a second for the Assassin to comprehend the words, and a burning rage filled him, " _What_!? He—How dare he! That bastard! He wants to take _my_ son!? Damn! _Damn_ him! I'll _kill_ him!"

"Do you have the way in yet?" his nephew asked, and though Ezio glared at the young man, the hate was for not him.

"No," he spat, fingers clenching. "Not yet. _Volpe_ is still working on it, and he thinks we're close… but Bartolomeo still needs time to prepare, but I don't have time!"

"You know the risk, though—."

"Of course I know the fucking risk!" he snapped, slamming a fist on the table. He left it there, seething. No one said anything, giving him the chance to close his eyes, breathe in deep, and force himself to settle down—if one could call it that. He leaned both hands against the table, a darkness coming over his face. "I know… I know I have to wait…"

"We'll get her out, Ezio. We will."

"I'll speak with Bartolomeo for you—see if we can't speed things along," Giovanni added.

"Please do," Ezio replied, glancing at them before heading towards another hallway, this one leading to the tunnels expanding all around the city.

"Where are you going?" Claudia called, sniffing just after.

"I need to… I need to cool off. To think. Report back to me when you have anymore news," he barked back, and, giving them no more time to speak, he ventured off into the night.

 **-O-**

 **May 4, 1500**

 **Castel Sant'Angelo**

 **Rome, Italy**

It was taking too long, but it had to be because Ezio and Machiavelli were being careful. That was what Catherine told herself as, yet another day started to end, and she was still stuck in the bed. Each passing hour made her stomach churn more and more uneasily—that, or it was her child kicking more furiously. Could the little boy—or girl—sense her unease? Her anxiety? Her fluttering hope? She hung onto it, though; letting her mind wander and question. Ever since Paula had left her room in a rush days ago, the letter hidden in her dress, she'd been on edge.

At first, she'd feared the worst—that Paula had been caught, or she'd chickened out and ran away, leaving her here despite her words. However, she would always quickly banish the thought and assure herself her friend had come through. The young woman had found Machiavelli, given him the note, and he's absconded her to safety. After all, she was in danger, too, for helping. He would have taken her to his home or some place safe, and summoned Ezio. No doubt they had been making a plan—some way to ensure they could get her out safely. She was heavily pregnant, after all; they couldn't just come in and grab her. She wouldn't be able to run, so they had to play it safe. That's why she hadn't heard any news—and why Paula hadn't come back.

Still, despite her assurance she felt the unease. It was a cold prickle that threatened to consume her, but she kept strong. Paula could do this. She was a smart, brave woman. She could do it. She knew who Machiavelli was now. She had found him. They would get her out. The next person through the door would be her Ezio. Her handsome, loving, wonderful Ezio. He would get her out, and she could have her baby in a safe place, and he would hold the child in his arms, and they would all be together again.

Sighing deeply, Catherine rubbed at her face. She almost couldn't believe how pathetic she was being—since when did she, a highly trained Assassin—get so anxious? Oh, she knew why, but she wished it was easier to hold onto her training. Surely Mario would have been furious that she had become how she was. She should have escaped long ago, truthfully, even if she had been waylaid for good reasons. Now all she had was her wits, and those felt like strands ready to snap at any second. She wanted to blame her pregnancy, but nothing felt sure anymore. She just wished something— _anything_ would finally change for the better.

A knock came from the door, causing her to jump. She forced herself to breathe in slowly, calming her racing heart, and waited as the lock clicked and turned. For a split second she held her breath, expecting—however foolishly—for it to be her husband. It was most likely a maid, but still, she hoped.

They were dashed at once, for in the doorway was not her husband, nor a maid, nor even the Doctor.

It was Cesare Borgia, and he was not alone; behind him was Micheletto, whom carried a tray in his hands. Her meal, she supposed, considering the hour. That, of course, wasn't nearly so strange as these two visiting her. The Borgia commander had not visited her for months, namely for the fact she was of no use beyond her child just yet, but also for his campaign. He had been slowly conquering all of _Roma_ , but he must have been back for a respite perhaps. His face looked rather confident, to the point of being cocky, in the way he smiled at her. No doubt his army was doing well, so she figured he'd come to gloat.

"Good evening, my Lady. How is my son doing?" he hummed, bringing the vanity chair over to sit by her side of the bed. Micheletto remained behind him by the door, the tray still in his hands. She couldn't help noting he still smelled of blood and death.

" _My_ child is fine," she replied curtly, narrowing her eyes. "How goes taking over the world?"

"Ah, just _Italia_ for now. The world later," he smirked, hands on his knees as he leaned back. She watched him, warily, and expected him to go on; to talk of the Apple or something else, but he said nothing. She glanced to Micheletto, whom had a dark glimmer in his eyes. Her heart beat a little faster as her eyes moved between them, trying to figure out what was going on. She didn't like this. She didn't like it one bit.

"What do you want?" she finally asked, fingers clenching the edges of her dress. Cesare let out a short chuckle as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees now, while he rubbed his beard some. He met her gaze, and she felt the coldness in her veins drop a few degrees.

"Oh, nothing much. It is just… well, here I provide a warm, safe place for you to give birth to _my_ son, and I like to think I have been a most _generous_ host. I have given you plenty of food, maids, a Doctor, and more. I have even let you roam this room freely and live far better than any prisoner of mine should. And yet," he mused, leaning back again in the seat and gesturing with his hand, "I find it is not enough. Not for _you_ , it seems, my Lady. No, oh no, no, you are quite selfish. So demanding. I almost see a bit of myself in you, but that is, perhaps, being _too_ generous.

He paused, looking right at her, "Ah, playing coy I see. You Auditore do enjoy playing the fool, don't you? Well, I assure you, _I_ am no fool."

A cold sweat formed on her brow, "What are you getting at?"

"Did you think I would not notice? That my guards would say nothing? That my eyes and ears in these walls would notice nothing? You think I would not note a petty little maid running around when and where she wasn't supposed to?" he went on, his voice becoming a low growl. He reached into his vest and procured a piece of parchment. She didn't need to read it to recognize her signature on it. Her blood turned to ice as her heart beat wildly. "Who was the note for, mm? Who did you write this to? What Assassin has dared infiltrate my home?"

Catherine bit her lip, body shaking. Her eyes never left Cesare, if only for fear he might do something if she did. She didn't dare try to make some excuse; she might say something she would regret. She didn't dare chance speaking Machiavelli's name and putting him at risk. Cesare, of course, did not like it.

"Tell me their name, wench!" he bellowed, standing up and nearly knocking his chair over. "Tell me so I can find them and do the same thing I did to that wretched little whore who dared betray me! Micheletto!"

The Borgia dog smiled as he came closer and pulled the cloth off the plate. Catherine almost vomited.

It was Paula.

It was her _head_.

It had been sawed off, like Mario's. Blood had pooled and dried on the plate, and her mouth was agape as if stuck mid-scream. Her eyes had been plucked out, leaving dark, empty holes. Her hair was matted and stained with blood, and her face was pale; lips blue. It was just her head.

She was _dead_.

And it was _her_ fault.

"Well!? _Answer me_! Who was this letter for!?" Cesare bellowed, and when she still did not answer him, eyes fixated on the screaming face of her friend, he brought his hand back and struck her with the back of it. She yelped as she looked up into his gaze, so fierce and terrible that fear was all she could feel. "Who was it!?"

"I-it—no one—," she tried, but he slapped her again.

"It was not _no one_! Tell me, or do I need to kill another maid? How many will I have to kill and put their heads at your feet before you speak, hmm? How many will you bring death to!"

Her mind raced as she shrieked, " _Ezio_! It was to Ezio! The Assassins! She said she'd seen one! She told me she had so I wrote it to him! She was supposed to find him!"

"Ezio Auditore?" the man scoffed as he turned to his dog, grabbing the hair on the head, and tossed it onto the bed. Blood that hadn't dried splattered onto the bed. Catherine flinched, staring, wide eyed at it, but then looked away quickly. "This woman perished for nothing then. Ezio is _dead_."

The redhead's gaze shot up to the man, whom presented her yet another smirk. He laughed even, and once again rummaged through his vest. From it he pulled a piece of cloth that had belonged to the sleeve of a shirt. It was a bright shade of white with an elegant design. It was stained with blotches of red, too, and he tossed that into her lap.

"Here. A present from my guards. They encountered a hooded man in the countryside wearing white and wielded blades on his arm. They slew him some time ago, and brought this back as a souvenir. They did not know, but I did: that man was Ezio Auditore, come to meet my challenge, which he _failed_. Pathetically. Your precious Ezio is no more, my dear, and I only lament it was not by _my_ hand. I admit, I am disappointed you Auditore did not measure up to all the talk. My father was simply just that weak it seems," he hummed as Catherine reached out, hesitated, but then picked it up. She didn't recognize the pattern—it wasn't the usual kind of garb he wore—but it was the same white Assassins wore.

"It… this isn't his. Ezio's alive," she whispered, knowing it couldn't be true. Ezio wouldn't die like that, and it was just a piece of cloth. Nothing more.

"Oh? Then why has he not come for you, hmm? Why has he not come barging in, slaying my men, and rescued you from your tower? Why has there been no word from your dear friend here? Why is the city still in _my_ hands, and soon all of _Italia_? You think Ezio Auditore would let me go untested? He is _dead_ , cut down like the dog he was, and the crows feast on his bones."

"You're lying!" she rasped, but the seeds had been planted and already grown. If it wasn't true, then surely he would have come by now. He wouldn't have left her here. And now this patch of white? Her captor's words? How could she keep denying it?

Catherine looked up as Cesare loomed over her, grabbing her chin too roughly. She didn't have the strength to pull away.

"Think what you will then, but Ezio Auditore is _dead_. The Assassins are _gone,_ and you are _alone_."

He shoved her away then, turning and moving past his comrade. Micheletto's smirk had never left his face, and now it struck her to her core. It shook her fully, and it took everything she had not to burst into tears. He glanced to the head, still sat on her bed.

"Enjoy your company—although, she does not seem to talk much anymore. Her screams were quite wonderful, however," he hummed, almost like a purr, and then he, too, was gone. The door locked, and Catherine was alone. Her eyes fell the piece of cloth in her hands—this small, damming piece of the love of her life. Torn. Bloodied. Lifeless.

Ezio was gone. What other explanation was there?

She looked to the head of her friend, the face stuck in a silent scream that deafened her ears. She had killed her only friend here. She had done this to the poor girl and her family, and now there was no escape. She could not get out. There was no more hope.

With nothing left to hold them back, tears poured down Catherine's face, mixing with the blood that trickled down from her lip, and, after a moment, she, too, screamed.

* * *

 **10 –** _End_

* * *

 ** _TMWolf:_** _So._

 _Things._

 _Things are happening :'D_

 _Not so great for 'Cat, but, hey, Ezio is getting the ball rolling. More family drama, and, yes, Micheletto IS that sick. Seriously. Read his profile on the acwiki and he's pretty dang brutal. He is not a nice guy, and he is A-okay with torturing and killing a maid._

 _How is 'Cat gonna survive!? :( Ezio you better hurry..._

 _Act I concludes next chapter..._


	11. I Fall Apart

**TMWolf:** _Well, I was definitely glad to see people actually really liked Paula... which made her death suck quite a bit :'D Guess what gets worse? Hoo boy._

 _Anyways... so, not going to say too much this chapter. I'm just going to let y'all read and soak in the madness. But thank-you all for your reviews! I love reading all your comments hehehe X) Keep 'em coming (especially if you see errors lol)._

 _This chapter is from Post Malone - I Fall Apart_

 _Enjoy (or not)!_

* * *

 **11** _– I Fall Apart_

* * *

 **May 10, 1500**

 **Castel Sant'Angelo**

 **Rome, Italy**

Catherine pressed her brows together as her belly tightened. She'd been feeling it more than usual lately, and this time it was somewhat painful. It reminded her of cramps she'd have during her menstruation, but being she was pregnant, it was just the baby kicking—hard. The child was moving quite a bit, and while it should have filled her with joy, she despaired to know the baby would be here soon. Her belly was more swollen than ever, or it certainly seemed that way, and some days she didn't want to get out of bed. Not that there was much reason to. Still, she couldn't bring herself to simply lie there despite everything. Besides, even though Paula's head and sheets had been removed the same day, she could still feel it there; could still smell and see the blood. The open mouth. The hollow eyes.

It haunted her every day, and always in her dreams. Only, it wasn't just Paula. It was Mario, too. His body was there, on the ground, and his head was on a pike. Both he and Paula would stare at her, their eyes and their tongues gone, and the blood seeping out of their orifices. At first, it had _just_ been them, but within the next few nights she had seen Ezio and Diana and Claudia and even Maria. Her nephew Federico had been the latest the night prior, and in the background—God, the things she could hear. The screams and moans and howls of agony. It had originally been in the darkness, but the ruins of her home soon began to appear, and blurred faces would show. They were all staring at her, screaming, some pointing. All damming her.

Each nightmare woke her with a start, her body dribbling with sweat and reeking of the fear that consumed her. It was agony. Pure, unrelenting agony. To her dismay, her pregnancy only made it worse. The aches of her dreams became physical, and she struggled to even get to her waste pot some mornings. Sometimes it took the help of the maids, new ones she didn't know. There was one that always helped her more than others—an older woman with a robust figure—but they didn't speak to her. They were quiet, like ghosts almost, and after they were done with their chores, they would leave. It made the loneliness worse than ever, and she often wondered why she didn't break down every day.

She also wondered why she didn't just end it.

What was the point? Ezio was gone. She couldn't deny it anymore. The love of her life was gone, and so could the rest of her family. The Borgia most likely killed them at the _Villa_ like Mario, and she was utterly alone. Her poor Diana must be gone, too, and now all she had was the child in her belly, but they weren't going to be _hers_. The Borgia would take the child—so why bother?

 _'You know why. You couldn't do it no matter what,'_ she spoke silently, placing a hand on her bump. And it was true. She couldn't do it. Even after everything, she couldn't take her own life—not when the child depended on her. She just couldn't do it. Ezio wouldn't want her to.

Catherine let the thoughts slip away, closing her eyes to breathe in deep, and looked to the older woman who was cleaning things. She was no doubt Paula's replacement. She looked perhaps in her forties, maybe older, and could have been someone's mother. She never said much beyond a command for her to do something, and she worked quickly.

The redhead looked to the ceiling, shutting her eyes again. Memories had been burned into the darkness of her eyelids, and she couldn't keep them closed for long. Tears brimmed as they always did, but she pushed it back. She had let them see her weakness before. Not again. She would show them nothing. They would have to kill her first.

 _'Except, you know you can't beat them,'_ her fear whispered, and her hate was torn between herself and the Borgia.

Catherine hissed when she felt another cramp, lurching forward some. There was a distinct pressure, but then—it stopped. Like a pop. She frowned, brows scrunching, and couldn't help feeling a sensation of fluid between her legs. Had she accidentally wet herself? No, she had gone not long ago, and it had never happened with Diana.

"Oh no," she gasped, eyes widened. "No, no, no, no—!"

She began to pull up her dress and the sheets off her legs, heart beating fast. It couldn't be, but she knew this sensation. She knew this feeling even if it had been so long since the last. And, unfortunately, she was right: her water had broken. The bed was wet, but not with urine. Pain began to form in her belly again, this time less relenting. She groaned, grasping at her bump.

"What? What is it?" the older woman inquired, rushing over. It was, perhaps, the most she'd said in the sentence since coming here.

"Oh God… the baby… is… is coming," she groaned, sweat forming as her contractions began. She let the tears come this time, her final fear coming true.

"Oh my," the woman breathed, and then raced for the door, throwing it open. "Call the doctor! She is in labor! Get the maids to bring cloth and water! Now!"

Whether the guards obeyed, Catherine didn't know, and couldn't come to care as the pain overtook her senses. That, and the terror of her reality: that her baby was coming. They were coming too soon, but there was no stopping it, and she would have no choice but to completely accept her fate. All the while, though, she prayed it was just a dream, but, as time became endless and her pain grew worse, she knew it was, very much so, real.

 **-O-**

The pain lasted forever, but once it ended, it was as if it had not happened in the first place. She vaguely recalled both her mother and Maria saying the same thing, and could believe it had happened with Diana, but the thought was fleeting as she recovered from her endeavor. Her body was weak, glistening with sweat, and shaking from the exhaustion. Her sheets and dress were bloody, and she vaguely recalled the doctor saying she had bled too much, but she would "survive". It almost felt like a curse, but it was forgotten as she looked to the woman who had been with her from the beginning of it, now cradling the child in her arms, wrapped in a towel. A boy. He was small, but twitching and screaming, and full of life. For all her despair, she rejoiced at the sight of her son, and reached out. The woman noticed, and, sparing a glance with the Doctor, came closer. Gently, she laid the baby to his mother's chest, and she cradled him close. He wailed, as a baby would, and she kissed his brow gently.

"It's okay… I-I've got you, my darling. I've got you," she whispered, keeping her cheek pressed to his head. His cries and screaming ebbed a little, but not by much.

"Congratulations, my Lady. He has a strong set of lungs," the Doctor spoke, washing off his things and preparing to pack them.

"What of her?" the older woman inquired.

The man waved, "She will be alright. Her bleeding has stopped, thankfully. She lost quite a bit, but she will live."

"For now", was the unspoken word, but Catherine would deal with it later. Right now, she had her little boy in her arms, and, with her strength returning, she was able to sit up proper, and stroke his cheek gently. He twitched and squirmed, head moving along her breast. She shifted her dress down then, allowing the babe to find her nipple, which he sucked hungrily. They had plenty of milk to give, having swollen up over the many months, and she was glad to see him so rowdy. He would need it to grow strong, being as small as he was. He had come so early—at least a month. Maybe. Whatever the case, it was too soon, but she could do nothing about it. Not anymore. She could only give him all the nourishment she could.

"Do you have a name?" the woman asked, pulling Catherine from her thoughts. She noticed the Doctor had left, leaving them be. The redhead looked back down to her son, realizing she hadn't even considered a name yet. She and Ezio never got a chance to really discuss it. They had thought perhaps Petruccio for Diana before she was born, but it didn't feel right to call him that, even if he was small like his late Uncle. She didn't think calling him after her father would be right, either; she hadn't been close enough to him for that and no one else knew him. There was one man she could think of, though, and a sad smile appeared on her face.

"Mario. He'll be Mario," she spoke softly, watching him feed with great need.

"A fine name," the woman hummed, but looked to the door when the handle turned.

What joy Catherine felt vanished when it was Cesare who appeared. Instinctively, she shifted to conceal the child, but he saw the babe anyways, and came forward. He had a malicious grin about him, no doubt eager to break her more and use her for his machinations with the Apple, but she'd be damned if she let him take her little Mario.

"Let me see the boy," he barked, but, to the redhead's surprise, it was the older woman who interjected, raising a hand.

"No; the babe is feeding. You need to leave them be," she snapped, giving the commander a look.

He scowled, "You dare, woman!?"

"Forgive me, my Lord, but as a mid-wife, I am far more versed in the matters of childbirth and babes than you. The boy needs his mother's milk to grow strong, and you have yet to provide a wet nurse. If you wish to take the child, at least ensure you have that much. Until then, the babe must feed from her breast. A Borgia must be strong, no?"

"Tsk… I suppose that is true. It seems the thought slipped my mind. Still, show me him—now," the man barked, and the woman turned to Catherine. She nodded, her eyes urging her to do so. The redhead wanted to deny them, but she feared for her child in a new way now. If she refused, they might hurt him. So, with reluctance, she shifted so the boy was more visible, still suckling her tit. The man smiled, "Ah… a bit small, but he will grow. You have done well, my Lady. You should be proud. He will make a fine Borgia."

"He is an _Auditore_ ," she hissed, but Cesare barked with laughter.

"Ever defiant. He will be a Borgia… and you will never see him again. Do enjoy this room while you can—once I obtain a wet nurse, you will find your accommodations far less… comfortable," he hummed, his smile cruel now. He looked to the older woman. "See to it the boy is well cared for, mid-wife. I put him in your care."

She bowed her head, "Of course, my Lord."

He left, closing the door behind him, and Catherine let out a wail. Her baby followed in suit, crying loudly, and would not settle even as she cooed and apologized to him. It took presenting her breast to him for her little Mario to put his mouth to better use. She, likewise, turned her anger to the mid-wife, whom she glared daggers at.

"You _can't_ give him to them! You _can't_!"

"He would be taken whether I wished it or not, my Lady… but I have given you a few days—you should make the most of them while you can," she mused, causing the redhead to pause. After all this time, she had not thought the woman on her side, but now it seemed she was? Or was it pity?

"…Who are you?"

"Just a mid-wife. Now, rest, my Lady… you will need your strength—now more than ever."

The woman went to cleaning again, and Catherine was left with her baby. He suckled innocently, wholly unaware of the world around him; of the dangers he faced. He was lucky to be so pure. So free. Her heart ached, knowing this time with him would be fleeting, and although she swore silently to him that she would fight—that she would die before she let the take him from him—she knew it was inevitable.

 **-O-**

 **May 14, 1500**

 **Castel Sant'Angelo**

 **Rome, Italy**

Catherine thought she knew pain. She thought losing her husband and family and home, or even the sensation of her body being ripped apart by the Clock would be the worst thing she could ever feel. Yet, when the mid-wife took Mario from her arms, and the guard wrenched her limbs behind her back, those moments of her life hardly compared. Her baby was crying—screaming—and she could not reach him. Although she had some of her strength back, the guards held her firm. She could not escape them as they dragged her from the room. She could not free herself from their grasp as she watched the mid-wife hand the child to a young woman—the wet nurse. She watched as her baby took her breast instead and sucked with the same need. She watched, even as tears blurred her vision, as Cesare smiled down at the child, brushing his cheek gently, and then looked at her. He smirked, as he always did, and it did break her.

He had _won_.

He had taken everything from her now, even her son.

There was nothing more to take, and she struggled and struggled against the men holding her. She forced them to strike her across the face to make her pause, stunned by the blow. They dragged her down the hall and to a set of stairs, and though she continued to scream, she couldn't bring herself to fight anymore. Her son was gone; the last light in her life. What was the point of fighting? What was the point of living?

 _'Vengeance,'_ a voice whispered, somewhere in the back of her mind, and her heart latched onto it. It dug it's claws in deep and let the poison seep into her. It fueled the rage that she had kept at bay, and it became a raging inferno. It was still contained, though, and so she stopped fighting the guards. She let them drag her to her cell in the prison, its dark, disgusting walls a reminder of the horrors she'd faced. The metal bars were just another cage, but one that no longer tried to veil the truth. It served only to make the poison stronger, and she seethed in her cell, sitting in the corner, curled up into herself. Her body shook with the anger, the hate, the sorrow.

"Oh, come now. Do not look so sad. Your son will be raised in the highest of nobility! He will become a fine Borgia," Cesare's voice echoed through the room. Her hazel eyes shot fire at him as he approached, the same guards who dragged her here at his side. He motioned to the one of his right, whom opened the door for him. Her legs, already coiled, were ready when he came close. She sprung, aiming for his throat, but the guards slapped her back with his spear. The other grabbed her again, and though she struggled and shrieked, they kept her arms at her side and shoved her to her knees before their master. He looked down at her, his grin vile.

"Now, now… none of that. Else I will have to reconsider your usefulness."

"You took my child you fucking bastard! What more do you want?!"

"For this, of course—do not tell me you forgot?" he chuckled, pulling the Apple from a pouch at his side. Her glare grew hotter and once more she tried to struggle, but the guards forced her hand out at a gesture from the Borgia commander. "I told you; as soon as the child was born, I would put you to your other use. Now, be a good woman, and show me how it works. Let us see if you really can make it work and come out unscathed…"

Catherine had not touched the Apple since she'd used it in conjunction with the Clock, and while she could honestly say this experience was not as bad, the pains was still incredible. It nearly overcame her senses as the power activated, shooting through her veins and spreading through her entire body. It was like touching fire, but not burning, and images of light and sounds that seemed more like echoes filled her mind. It was deafening and blinding, yet she saw them. Symbols danced across her eyelids and the walls, and she gasped for air as she endured it.

First, she saw the past.

She saw her mother and even her father. She saw their lives long before she'd found the Clock. It was blissful in its own way, and she felt a wave of regrets and nostalgia. The images faded and changed, showing her the moments when she came to this land, so lost and unsure, pulled there by the calling of a former god. She saw her time in _Firenze_ , with the family she loved so dearly, and the danger she faced and the joy she'd felt. Then she was back in _Monteriggioni_ , and she witnessed the life she built there with her love and her people and with Mario—saw the courage she found grow into something so wondrous. The Apple showed her with Ezio, always together as they traveled the land; displayed their war with the Templars they defeated—the countless battles they faced; flashed fragments of the love they found and nurtured and let blossom, of the endless bonds they made, of all the kindness and hate and—everything. Then there was fire and pain and screaming and chaos and blood—so much of it. The _Villa_ falling; their life destroyed.

The Apple tore her from the memories to show her the present, the guards and Cesare as figures of light. She could sense their emotions—their thoughts. She felt their scorn, their assurance, their mocking laughter and sneers. Their disgust and pleasure at her defeat. She hoped they could feel her hate and her rage and loathing. She hoped it struck them to their core, but the Apple refused her as it showed her more.

Here, the confusion began, for she saw gleaming eyes in the dark and the baying of hounds—or was it wolves? She could not say, but their teeth snapped, and their lips curled, all striving for her throat. Before she could scream, the images changed, and figured in white stood before her, shouting but not with anger. Respect then? She couldn't tell. Their bodies morphed into one, forming a creature that screamed in agony, begging her to stop. She couldn't make them out—or the other voice that shouted her name. The images melded and shifted, and suddenly there was her daughter. She stood in a corridor, her face stricken with a kind of terror a young child couldn't understand. Tears poured down her face as she reached for some figure, who was lost to her as the vision morphed again. Laughter and harsh words she didn't comprehend. Hands around a neck, squeezing—tighter every second. Garbled breaths, the sounds of a dying man. Anger next. Words shouting, a figure obscured. The lights flickered and changed, and she saw all sorts of strange, dangerous things. Raging machines that should not be, which mowed down men as though they were nothing. It wasn't right, but she could do nothing but watch as the Apple showed her the designs, the words, the numbers. It tore her mind through them and on to a battlefield. There she witnessed chaos—so many men, their sides unknown, fighting, dying; a world on fire. At the helm was Cesare, raising his sword victoriously. The scene shifted once again, to another battle. It was along a wall, and again the Borgia commander was there. He was screaming something—howling it the world. A promise of chains that could not bind; of how man could not kill him; how he would lead mankind to a new age. He was talking to someone—but who?

Catherine gasped for air as the sensations suddenly stopped, the fire gone and leaving her cold. She slumped in the guard's grasp, and their hold faltered, allowing her to fall to her hands and knees. Even Cesare stepped back, panting lightly, his eyes wide. He looked to the Apple, stunned for a moment, but then laughed and laughed and laughed. He spun on his heel and left her there in the cell, his men following him. As always, they locked her in, but this time he was still there, watching her when she finally found the strength to look up.

"Oh, you have done well, my Lady… _Italia_ will be mine… _All_ of it will be mind. I have seen it. The Apple has shown it, and I will make it so. There is so much… so _much_!" he laughed, eyes still wide—like a fanatic. He expression paused, then brightened once more. "Ah! Yes… yes, I know just the thing… I will take it to the architect. He will know what to do with it. The things it showed… yes, he can understand them. Make them. And if _you_ can wield it… surely so can he. His mind will be able to handle it. Oh, yes… you have done _very_ well."

"Go to hell, you bastard," she rasped weakly, forcing herself up. She staggered, though, and ended up falling back against the wall, exhausted. Cesare chuckled at her display, returning the Apple to his pouch.

"Keep her here. Feed her once a day and leave her be. I still may have use for her."

"Of course, my Lord," the guard nodded. His commander spared the woman one final, leering glance, and then left her in the cell, more alone than ever.

Catherine brought her knees close once another, her mind whirling with the sights she had seen; the memories and premonitions. It had been a cementation of the truth; of Cesare's inviable victory. She had failed in every way, and now all she had was her rage. There was no light here in the darkness to shield her against it, so she embraced the cold burn; let it consume her.

Cesare _would_ die, she decided, and the thought alone was enough to keep her going.

 **-O-**

 **? ?, ?**

 **Castel Sant'Angelo**

 **Rome, Italy**

"Restrain her."

Catherine jumped, the voice waking her from the little sleep she could get. The guards were on almost on her as she came to fully, letting her manage to strike one in the face. She received a slap in kind, and then her arms were, as they had many times now, pulled behind her back. They shoved her to her knees, and one guard grabbed her unkempt ponytail to wrench her head back, forcing her to look up into the cold eyes of Lucrezia Borgia. She was in her gaudy attire as always, and perhaps to someone else in the redhead's position, she might have been frightened to see the blonde. In this moment, though, all she felt was spite and made sure to spit at her.

"You cur!" the woman snapped, slapping Catherine in response. The blow stung, but she hardly felt it. This pain was nothing. Lucrezia grabbed her chin, nail digging into her skin. "You must have thought I did not remember what you did to me, but the Borgia _never_ forget. You are going to pay for your insolence."

The woman released her, but only to step out in the cell, grab a leather strap, and waltz right back in. She looked to the guards, the lash gripped tight in her hand.

"Turn her around and rip the back of her dress. Hold her— _tightly_. I do not want her getting loose," she spoke coolly, and the guards obeyed. Catherine was thrust around, and while she struggled some, they tore the back of her dress, splitting it down the middle and exposing her back. She knew what was coming, but the sharp sting of the whip still shook her. She managed not to scream or yelp, biting her lip so hard that it bled instead. The strike was agony, though, and the second was even worse. The third even more sore. The fourth was like fire, and the rest only added to it all. They ripped into her skin, and as she lost count she could feel the blood trickling. She could not keep from crying out then, and tears fell despite her attempts to hold them back. The pain was great, though not as great as that of losing her child, but it was pain all the same.

It fueled the poison within her. Made it stronger, darker. Her rage grew hotter and deeper, and each lash was another promise—another oath—to sink a blade into Lucrezia's heart. When she was free—and she _would_ find a way—she would ensure the woman paid double. No, she would pay more than that, and Catherine would enjoy it. She would relish in all the Borgia's suffering, and for that, she would endure the agony.

It was hard not to wish for the end, though, which came only after what had to have been forever. The last lash left her trembling, blood dribbling down her back and either staining her dress or dripping to the floor. Lucrezia made a huff-like sound as she left the cell, tossing the lash aside. The guards released her, and she dropped to the ground, too weak to move right now. Her cries of pain had stopped, her voice too hoarse to make sound now, and the pain lingered, flaring with any movement. So, she kept still, letting the cool air of the cell ease the burn even if only a little.

"Have her cleaned up. I do not want Cesare finding out—not any time soon. Call the Doctor if you must. I am finished here," the woman hummed, and her heels echoed off the stone floors long after she had left. Catherine cursed her with every one of her steps, her promising growing in number, and each more vicious than the last. She vowed the woman would rue this day, and the thought kept her awake until the Doctor arrived and gave her both healing ointments and bandages, and a new dress. It was only then he let darkness take her consciousness, though the whispers followed her even into her dreamless sleep.

 **-O-**

 **? ?, ?**

 **Castel Sant'Angelo**

 **Rome, Italy**

The guards kept whispering as they looked at her. Catherine pretended to be asleep, but she could see them; hear them. They were curious about her, though not in a way they should. They already knew she could work the Apple, although Cesare had not brought it back for some time. He was busy with what he'd already been given, and after Lucrezia's visit, only the guards had served as company. For the most part, they left her be. They spoke only to themselves of stupid, petty things, but it seemed their boredom had taken its toll, and now their interest was with her. Specifically, recalling how she had such a nice back before it had been left scarred by the lashing, but, perhaps, the front was not so bad? Her legs were surely fine, and, sure, she'd recently had a child, but she was obviously used to being fucked. Surely Cesare wouldn't mind them having a bit of fun? They were alone here, after all. All they did was watch her, and they were bored. So why not?

Catherine bristled as they made their choice, the cell door creaking open. They were hoping to ambush her no doubt, but she was ready. They reached for her, and she lunged, fingers digging into his arm. His comrade yelped in surprise as she shot up and slammed her fist into his face. She sent him to the ground, and she followed, punching him again and again and again. She didn't care for the blood splattering into her dress, nor that the other guard had pulled her off and threw her against the wall. She avoided the first strike and returned her own blow. He caught her wrist, however, and rammed his fist into her stomach. She gasped, legs nearly going out, but she managed to stay upright. He grabbed her hair next, wrenching her back into the wall.

"You bitch! I'll fucking gut you for that!" he hissed while his companion groaned in agony.

" _Enough_."

The guard went stock still, releasing the redhead and spinning on his heel. His face paled at the sight of his leader, standing in the cell entrance. Beside him was a strange man, dressed in unusual garb. It was a cloak of all black, save for some lighter rims. His hat was dark as well, and a mask covered his face. Only his eyes were visible, but she could imagine he was smirking behind it. Cesare, however, had a scowl on his face as he regarded them all.

"Did I not order you leave her be? A cornered animal, even when wounded, will bite," he scoffed. He gestured to the fallen guard, "Take him to the Doctor, and I suggest you find replacements. I do not need disobedient _dogs_ under my command. Be grateful I am feeling merciful today, or I would have you put down."

"I—uh—y-yes! Of course! Thank-you, my Lord! Our deepest apologies!" the guard yelped, tail tucked between his legs. He scrambled to grab his comrade and get him up. The man slumped in the guard's grip, but he managed to get him out of the cell, leaving Catherine alone with Cesare and his quest. She regarded them coolly, remaining at the back of the cell.

"Quite the spitfire, isn't she?" the masked man chuckled. "I suddenly don't mind this detour to the prison."

"I thought it good to check in on her while I was here. The conquest of _Italia_ has kept me busy, but I had heard my dear sister had caused some trouble, but it appears I was wrong. I need not worry about leaving her here after all."

"Shame to have her wasting away in this cell, though. Or do you intend to use her still?"

"Hmm… no. Not anymore. I have what I need from her. I suppose I simply had not devised a proper way to be rid of her," the Borgia shrugged, churning Catherine's rage further. The gall of him, talking about her in such a way.

"Ah, then perhaps I may be of more service to you?" the man in the mask chuckled. The Borgia raised a brow, at which the masked man laughed. "Oh, yes, my Followers do wonders sending the people to the Church and ever into your debt… but my men have needs, you see."

Cesare snorted, but a smirk remained on his face, "What? The courtesans and slum girls are not to their taste?"

"Oh, they do fine for that vile lot, but… the girls are not very lively—no fire to them. No fight. The men are getting bored, I think. They really are like wolves sometimes."

"Aaah, I see what you mean… Hmm… yes," the Borgia mused, his gaze cold and calculating as he looked to the redhead. "I think that would do well. You have done me a favor, my friend."

The masked man bowed his head, "Of course, my Lord Cesare. It is the _least_ I could do. The Followers of Romulus live to serve you, after all. When do you think I might take her off your hands?"

"Come tonight. I will have her waiting in a carriage for the ride to _Il_ _Colosseo._ Remember to do so quietly; I do not want any prying eyes."

"Of course. No one knows of our Lair there, and with this prize," the man hummed, lecherous eyes flicking to her again, "the men will make _doubly_ sure."

"Until then," Cesare chuckled, eyes flicking to the redhead once more.

It was then she knew, he had meant for this—since the beginning. Perhaps not in the exact way, but he had come here solely to mock her. Her use with the Apple was done, and now she was nothing but a broken tool to be tossed away. No, she was less than that. Just a bone to be thrown to the dogs after the meal was over. She was naught but a piece of meat, and though the thought frightened her to the core, her rage was louder and more powerful. She would not be used by these men. She would overcome them. She would find a way, and she would kill them.

Until then—until tonight—she would let them think they had her.

But when it was time, she would escape. Cesare would rue this day, and she would have her revenge.

 **-O-**

"My Lady, wake up. You do not have much time."

Catherine had never been asleep in the first place but pretended to be as she lifted her head slowly. To her surprise, it was not a guard or Cesare, but the older woman—the mid-wife. She had slunk into the prison quietly, and she held something—a bottle—in her hands. Her face, perhaps for the first time since they'd met, showed a sense of urgency. The redhead decided to relent and came to the cell bars, though her steps were sluggish. She was tired, her rage ebbing from before, but ready to flare at a moment's notice. Her eyes, bags heavy underneath them, looked to the vial and then the woman. She pushed it through the bars to her hands, and Catherine took it, looking at it blearily.

"Drink. Quickly. You will need it if you want to survive through the night."

Catherine briefly wondered how the woman could know but decided to not look the gift horse in the mouth. Then again, it could be a trap, but looking back on things, the woman had already helped her before. She was most likely helping now, so she uncorked the vial and downed the fluid. She handed it back once done and wiped her lip.

"What was that?"

"A special draught—to prevent pregnancy."

Catherine looked sharply to the woman, heart skipping a beat. She knew what was coming. And though she, too, had known it, the reality only now set in. The man's intentions for her were the kind she had always dreaded in her life, though never considered it. She'd never had to. Ezio was the only man to touch her, and they had kept each other safe. But she was on her own now, and she had to take every precaution. She only wished she had a knife—if only to slit her own throat before they touched her. They had taken enough from her. She wouldn't let the bastards defile her, too.

"For how long?"

"Long enough—perhaps forever. I'm not certain," she stated plainly, and Catherine hated her in that moment. It was only for that moment, though, and she tempered her anger.

"Can't you get me out?" she spoke, voice barely a whisper.

"No. Even if I left the door open, you could not escape. There are too many guards, and I cannot help you. I am sorry, my Lady. Truly. But… I will keep the boy safe."

She looked to the woman, eyes hardening, "I'm coming back for him. I _will_ come back. And when I do… if he is harmed in any way…"

"He will be safe. Now you must survive, My Lady," the woman replied, and before Catherine could stop her, she left as quickly as she had come. The redhead was alone once more, and it took everything she had not to break down. She couldn't tonight—not yet. Not with the fate that awaited her. So, she went back to the wall of her cell, hunkering down, and doing her best not to vomit. She swore she felt the draught working; destroying her insides; rendering her infertile. It was possibly not forever, but it was a knife to the gut all the same. However, the wound eventually ebbed, and she was left to stew in all the agony and pain and hate and rage that was left to keep her company as the hours passed.

It was perhaps midnight—it could have been noon for all she knew—when the guards came for her. Cesare didn't bother to give her the honor of seeing him before she left, and she chose not to resist as they pulled her up and escorted her through the prison. They went further downstairs to a barracks of sorts within the _Castel_ , the stone walls closing in with every step, suffocating her slowly. She would occasionally wonder if she should fight; perhaps risk death, but the thought of her child stopped her. Mario was here, in this place, and she had to get him back. She would have to endure the agony to come, and if it meant having her vengeance, she would do it.

She remained docile as they brought her into a carriage in the courtyard. Inside was the masked man, whom greeted her as if she weren't his prize—his little bone to give his dogs. Mocking her. She didn't answer him, and he said no more as she was placed between two more guards, and the carriage sped off into the darkness of the night.

The man watched her the whole way, as if sizing her up. She wanted to grip his throat and squeeze it until he popped, but the guards were a good deterrent. The man was lucky—for now. She made sure to memorize his face; every single one of his features. She would remember him, and when she escaped this place she would find him again and she would make him suffer. She would make them all suffer for this.

It was nearly pitch dark when the carriage came to a stop, some place outside the _Il Colosseo_ , near a rundown structure that looked to have been a building. The masked men hummed with approval as he stepped out and waited for them to follow. She was shoved out, nearly tripping as she stumbled, but managed to remain upright. The masked man motioned for the guards to follow, and they led her to one of the buildings, slipping through a doorway that had long since lost its wooden frame. There they came upon an abandoned room, the only thing out of place a handle on the floor. The masked man opened that, revealing a dark, underground tunnel that was lit only in a small section by a lantern set into an enclave on the right. The man took it up and beckoned them downward. The guards shoved her forward, and she descended with them into the darkness, the once warm air turning an icy cold as they went further and further underground. The stairway finally ended at a door, this one made of wood and bearing an emblem of a wolf upon it. The masked man turned to them then, regarding her once more with that infuriating hum of his.

"Strip her."

As soon as their hands touched her, she fought back, fear forcing her to break her former confidence, but she was outmatched. Though she landed more than a few blows, one of the guards finally restrained her as the other grasped the cotton fabric of her dress and pulled as hard as he could. It ripped a little, and then with more pulling the rest came free. The shame came as a hot wave in her face and her stomach twisted, her body exposed in a way no man but her husband should have seen. The masked man made a sound of approval and finally opened the door. Darkness was behind it, except for the faintest of light far in the distance.

"Toss her inside. We are done here," the man bade, and the guards thrust her through the doorway. She hit the ground, rolling, and hissing in the sharp pain of hard stone against her bare flesh. She pushed up just as the man began to close the door. His eyes looked at her from behind the mask, a cruel, hidden smile there. "Let the hunt begin."

The door shut, the sound echoing through the dark. Catherine's heart hammered in her head, the beat loud in her ear drums. She didn't dare breathe, nor move save to turn her head toward the small flicker of light. Was it safety or danger? She could never know, and she didn't want to move. What if someone heard? What if they were already here? Ready to pounce? For all her oaths and promises and rage, it all suddenly seemed so fleeting now. She needed to get up. She needed to get out. She had to get away. She had to _move_!

And then—a howl in the dark.

Catherine ran.

 **-O-**

 **May 23, 1500**

 **Castel Sant'Angelo**

 **Rome, Italy**

Ezio moved slowly, silently, his boots barely making an audible sound as he slunk through the stone halls of the _Castel Sant'Angelo_. It had already been nothing short of a miracle that he'd managed to find a way in, _La Volpe_ 's spies spotting a flaw in the guard's schedules and how they would leave certain doors unlocked. Even more miraculous was Bartolomeo managed to rally the forces needed to draw the Borgia from the fortress. Or, at the very least, enough to make his job easier. Rumors had said the "guest" was in the upper towers, and so he had ventured that way, sneaking through the courtyards, scaling wall after wall, and now managing to clamber into the main tower. He had not encountered too many guards, and the night shift generally had less people if he'd been told right. It certainly seemed that way, with most of those rummaging about being maids or other servants. They were easy enough to avoid, and some he even tricked with a bow of the head and a genuine smile.

All he knew was that it made reaching the rooms Catherine might be in all that much easier. Better still, he had managed to snag keys to the rooms and could check them one by one. He hated taking so long, but he knew Cesare was gone—Rodrigo, too, by rumors of the guard—which meant his job was easier. For now, anyways. The hard part would be getting his wife out, but his allies were waiting for him. Already there was a thief within the walls, disguised as a page and ready with a carriage. There were others outside the walls to distract and mercenaries just beyond the bridge to waylay pursuers. It had all been planned out thoroughly, and now all that remained was finding his beloved wife.

Unfortunately, that would prove more difficult than he realized. There were far more rooms than expected, and although checking them was a swift endeavor—just open the door, look inside, and close it after finding it empty—the number of them made the time it took long. He did not have forever to find her, and so he had to quicken his pace at one point, and even took the liberty of removing a guard with a quick stab of his Blade. He didn't necessarily lament ridding the world of a Borgia goon, but his heart was already heavy. He had taken so long to finally get here, and each empty room was another weight on his chest. Already he feared the worst but held onto hope. His wife was surely still alive, the baby not yet born. It was too soon for that, so he pressed on.

Yet, that hope fell short. By what felt the twentieth try, his frustration was growing. What room could Catherine be in? How had he not come by here yet? Was she _not_ in the tower then? Was she in a prison perhaps? No, they wouldn't be _that_ cruel, would they? But then why was he upon the last room now and still yet unable to find his wife? Was she really so far into the tower?

Ezio held his breath as he slipped the key into the lock of the door—of the final room he had found in this God-forsaken place. He turned it slowly, both dreading and yearning to see what lay beyond. He pushed open the door even slower, the wood creaking and groaning from the effort, and let it swing open.

Empty.

Naught but a bed, a vanity, and drawers. His wife was not there.

Catherine _wasn't_ there.

His heart fell to the farthest depths of the world and panic nearly seized him. He kept it at bay as he considered his options. The prison then? Perhaps the Borgia _were_ that cruel. He couldn't bring himself to believe it, but how could he deny it, either? The Assassin shook his head, the notion bewildering, but he would turn this tower inside out if it meant finding his love. He would kill every single guard if he had to, and his Blade was ready to work as he turned around and headed back the way he had come. The way to the dungeons would not be far, and if he was quick he could get there sooner. Thankfully, no one appeared along the way, and he darted for the stairway, praying his wife was in the dungeon, but fearing it all the same.

"She is not down there."

Ezio nearly tripped on the steps but caught himself and spun around to find the one man he had once hated with a passion but had given it up for a new life. Yet, looking upon the man's tired, old face, he felt the hate return. It increased yet again as he recalled why he was here in the first place—how Cesare's attack was the fault of the man before him.

He growled, Blade extending, "Rodrigo."

"The Lady Auditore is not here," he reiterated, and the Assassin paused.

"What do you mean? Where is she? What have you done with her!" he snarled, starting up the steps. To his credit, the Pope did not move. He didn't even flinch as Ezio grabbed his robes and brought close enough their noses nearly touched. "Where is my wife!?"

"She is gone. Cesare took her away," the man spoke, and Ezio's heart fell further. His grip slackened for a moment, before returning twice as hard.

"When?! _Where_?!"

"Only a few days ago, but I do not know where. He only wished to be rid of her."

"Explain!" the Assassin snapped, but he knew the answer even before the Pope gave it.

"Cesare no longer had use of her, so he tossed her away. She was gone before I had even returned here."

" _No!_ " Ezio bellowed, throwing the man back. He let out a feral sound, bringing up his Hidden Blade as if to kill Rodrigo, but faltered, his mind whirling. "She was with child! Did he let the child die, too?! Did he kill my child!?"

"No—the child was born, but… I have not seen the babe nor heard what became of it. I cannot say what he did with it, if it was not still born," Rodrigo rumbled, and the Assassin swore there was pity in his voice.

"No! No, no!" he rasped, his voice breaking with his heart. It couldn't be true. His wife was already gone, but now his child? Were they both truly dead? Had he lost them? Had he been too late? God, what had he done? He glared at the Pope, "You're lying. You have to be."

The Pope regarded him solemnly, "For what it is worth… I am sorry, Ezio Auditore. This is not what I wished for."

"Then what _did_ you want, you bastard!" Ezio spat, charging over and grabbing his robes once more. "This is all because of you! First my father and my brothers. Then my Uncle and nephew! Now my wife! My child! They are dead because of _you_!"

"I only wanted to keep hold of my power, but I did not want _this_ ," he replied, and the weariness in his voice made the Assassin pause once again. As much as he wished to think it, this man in his grasp was not the same one he had fought for so long. He was simply a tired old man who had lost his will—perhaps not to live, but his strength was gone. He was beaten. Broken.

Ezio almost laughed at how he felt just the same. He withheld it, though, and released Rodrigo, staggering back. He felt so weak now. Tired. So very tired.

He had failed them—he had failed Catherine. He had let her die, and now she was gone. She would not come back this time. There was no Clock to bring her back. She was really gone. Forever.

"I'll kill him. I'll gut that man," he hissed, fingers clenched.

"They… may still live," the old man hummed. Ezio looked at him sharply, confusion clear. The man met his gaze, "Though I know my son sent your wife away, I do not know _where_ or _how_. She may yet live, as might your child. I can tell you no more, though. The only answers will come from Cesare himself."

Ezio's heart skipped a bet.

Hope.

It was there.

Barely, but it was there. Catherine _could_ be alive. Even if it was a slim chance, it was still a chance. His child, too.

His agony ebbed, though only a little. They were still gone, and he had no idea where to look. They were not here in the _Castel_ , though. It was disheartening, but he would be damned if he did not turn _Roma_ inside out until he found them, which he would. That was a promise he made then and there, and he would not break it. He would search until his dying days, never relenting in his quest.

"You should leave now, if you do not wish for a fight. You have been here too long, Assassin," Rodrigo spoke, pulling him from his stupor.

He regarded the man, "…Why have you done this? You could have left me to suffer—or called the guard."

"A life for a life, if you will. You bested me yet spared my life… and I no longer have the desire to fight. I am old, and I am _tired_.. I only wish to keep what remains of my Order together, just as you do your family. It is my son who seeks to do more—even perhaps more so than I did not so long ago. He is the cause of all this mess, and it is him _alone_. I hope—should we meet again, Assassin… you might remember this moment."

"I make no promises, Rodrigo… But I _will_ kill Cesare if I have the chance. Him I will not spare."

"Then hurry, Assassin. Before I change my mind."

Ezio spirited off, slipping back out through the way he had planned for his wife. All the while he wished he was not alone, but he could not mull on it Oh, he would feel the burn of his failure until the day he finally found Catherine again, but it would serve as a reminder; a reason to never falter; to never stop in his search. Only when he could look the love of his life in her eyes and apologize to her in every way possible would he finally allow himself peace. Until that day, though, he would not rest. He would ensure Cesare paid for his crimes as well. The man had taken too much and hurt too many. Even if that, too, cost him his life, he would bring the Borgia down.

This night, though, the Assassin retreated to his last sanctuary; to the home of Machiavelli where his small ray of hope still shined bright. There he found his daughter asleep, dreaming peacefully as ever. He was careful to not wake her as he joined her\, pulling her to his chest. She curled close, relishing in the warmth, and in those waning hours, Ezio finally allowed himself to grieve.

* * *

 **11 -** _End_

* * *

 _Act I_

 _End_

* * *

 ** _TMWolf:_** _He was too late._


	12. Act II Ares - The Promise

**_TMWolf:_** _Wasn't sure if I was going to update or make y'all wait a week... but why not?_

 _So._

 _Big important note: THERE IS ABOUT AN **EIGHT MONTHS** TIME SKIP. PLEASE NOTE THE DATE._

 _A LOT of time has gone by for Ezio. A LOT. This is a lot of time of Catherine being on her own, and Ezio trying to keep things together with his family and the city. I'm kinda stretching it a little bit, but this fits the timeline of things happening in the story best. Honestly, I kinda hate doing this in a way, because I feel like I can't SHOW the time skip as well as I should, but... nothing big happens that I want to show until now. So it like sucks for meeeeee soooo muuuuuuuch. But please just understand that Catherine has been missing for over half a year, Ezio has no idea what's happened to her, and it's just... yeah._

 _Blah. Anyways. Act II starts with this chapter, so have fun reading, and feel free to drop a review with comments, questions, critiques, or what not! :)_

 _The song is from When In Rome - The Promise_

* * *

 _Act II_

 _Ares_

* * *

 **12** – _The Promise_

* * *

 **January 30, 1501**

 **Rome, Italy**

Ezio inhaled deeply as he woke, sunlight filtering through the milky windows of his room in the hideout on _Isola Tiberina_. It lit the room just enough to make him stir, and he reached under his sheets, spreading his hand across the mattress. When he felt nothing he opened his eyes, brow scrunched together, and then sighed. He had forgotten he was alone here, in this bed. In this place. He couldn't begin to fathom how long it had been since he had the warm body of his wife next to him, and, not for the first time, he wondered how a man could stand sleeping alone. It was just too empty. Too lonely. To have lived with someone in his arms every night, and now to wake up with half the bed cold? It was torture. A kind of anguish he though he'd never endure again, yet here he was.

He numbed himself to it, though, and forced himself up as he did every morning. Most days, he would slip on his undershirt, trousers, and then his Assassin gear, but today he ignored it for a simple tunic and a casual belt that went with his boots. He tied his hair back loosely and left his room. Ironically, he found the empty hallway of the upper levels of the hideout more warm and welcoming than his own room, despite the only inhabitants being himself, a maid and a few servants who kept it clean, and his daughter. Then again, how could it not when half of him was missing, and his bed only served as a reminder?

Ezio shook his head, banishing the thoughts. Now was not the time for them, although they would always come again and again and again. He dared to say they never truly left him, and part of him never wanted them to. They hadn't when he'd first knew the agony of being alive and dead at the same time, and it was only the thought of his daughter that kept him from being a mess. She was the last light of his life, and even in his hour of weakness in the morning he could not help but suck in her warmth when he spotted her waiting just down the stairs for him. She did so every morning—save for when she slept with him on the odd occasion or if her night was filled with terrors—and he happily swooped her up, spinning her around, and held her in her arms.

"Papa! Ready for your day off?" Diana giggled, tugging at the white collar of his undershirt.

He grinned, "Just let me grab a bite to eat and we'll be off. You ate your breakfast, though, right?"

"Mmmhmm! Now, hurry!" she laughed with delight, and he obeyed. A quick trip to the kitchen to grab a bit of meat and bread, and he hoisted his daughter up higher into his arm before finally escaping a home that often felt more like a prison.

He squinted a bit as the sunlight hit him full force and used the moment to set his daughter down so she could take his hand instead. She pointed towards the market up the stairs to their right and tugged vehemently. He chuckled, ever endeared by her enthusiasm, and happily succumbed to her whims. All the while, he admired the tiny island that had come to serve his Order, and then gazed out upon the city he now called home.

A year had passed since coming to this city, and Ezio could honestly say _Roma_ had changed for the better. An outsider might not have noticed much, and even a native to the large establishment might not have seen it, but things were different. In most cases, it was small matters; businesses once failing now thrived; new shops opened here and there; more children could be found playing in the streets, and people would walk and laugh and talk far more than before. Yet, in some ways, it was much bigger. Borgia Captains, once an imposing, widespread force in areas of the city, were now seldom, and with them went the brutality of the guards. Oh, they were still a force to be reckoned with, but the people did not fear them quite as much. If one looked, there was a gaiety in the air—a jubilance in the people that had not been there before. It was as though a heavy weight had been lifted on the city, and the effects had already spread far and wide.

Of course, the Borgia influence was not totally gone, and it always began to weasel back after enough pause. It didn't help the nobles were still under their heel for the most part, and the _Vaticano_ district was as red with their enemy flag as could be. Certain sections in the countryside were still not liberated, and the French controlled another part, which could not be dealt with so easily—not when their entire army was held up in a fortress to the northeast. That, unfortunately, was not a task that could be taken care of by simply eliminating a few guards. No, the demise of the French general was the only solution, but the man was beyond reach. For now.

For Ezio, the notion that he could walk along the streets of _Isola Tiberina_ with his daughter, her small hands held within his, dressed in normal attire and not be molested by guards, was all he really cared for. It hadn't been more than a few weeks since he felt it safe enough to bring his daughter to his headquarters, brought on by her constant asking to be with him. She'd spent months at Machiavelli's, and while she did enjoy his hospitality—he was now _Uncle_ Machiavelli—and improving her education, she wanted to be with family, and Ezio would be in a coffin before he would let her stay with her aunt and grandmother in a brothel. Machiavelli was opposed to her going, the man having grown fond of her, but Ezio was confident the hideout was secure and with Borgia influence dwindling, he knew she would be safe. Most people on the island that were permanent were loyal to him and the Assassins, and no visitors would know better. That, and no one—not even the Borgia—knew him without his gear on.

"Papa, let's go there!" Diana called, tugging on his hand. He followed her pointing finger and couldn't help but chuckle. He crouched down, motioning with his head.

"What? You want to go the smithy? Now why would you want to do that?" he smirked, and then chuckled again when she pushed some his bangs out of his eyes. The locks had grown long lately, and he hadn't bothered to trim them. There was only one person he ever allowed to do it, and it didn't feel right to go to another.

"I want to see the swords, Papa!" she giggled, pushing his hair this way and that. "You have so many at home—I wanted to see the old man work on them!"

He raised a brow, "Not very lady-like."

"Mama wasn't," the girl huffed, and, despite the ache in his chest her words called forth, he smiled. He pulled his daughter into his arms, mindful of her new blue dress, and brought her up with him. She clung to his black tunic, head pressed to his. "Mama went to the… the smithy."

"That she did. She liked to make sure her sword and armor were in good shape. I have to go there every so often, too," he hummed as he made for the store, the older man and his apprentice already at work tempering a sword in the fires. He had other weapons pre-made and finished, set out for patrons to admire. There were armor sets as well, hand-crafted and expertly made. "So? What do you think? They have more than swords and armor, though. They have crossbows and smoke-bombs and even belts."

"Do you think I could have my own one day? Like you?" he asked, tilting her head curiously. Inside, the smithy's assistant waved, which Diana returned happily.

"Hmm… perhaps when you are older."

She huffed, cheeks pouting, "Giovanni and 'Rico were given stuff at my age."

"That's different—and, no, don't give me that look. You're still too young, and you need to focus on your studies first. We'll talk about you learning to fight when you're older."

"Ugh, _Papa_ ," she groaned, but did not press the issue. She focused, instead, on the smithy working the blades until, as she always did, grew bored with that activity. They moved onto the next, which happened to be the art shop. There they purchased a few drawing supplies for the young girl and a painting or two to decorate the hideout—he'd started a gallery, not unlike the _Villa_ , if only to make the place feel more like a home than a headquarters. Diana enjoyed it especially, and had even taken up drawing once more, although wished Leonardo were there to help. Ezio wished his friend was there, too, but he'd not heard from the artist in an age, and while he worried, he knew the man would be alright. He'd find him if he weren't—somehow.

Ezio took his daughter through the market, the small square teeming with people and sunlight, flickering through the space between buildings and the leaves of trees. No guards were to be found, but there was no need; the island wasn't worth their attention, and the Assassin would have made sure they did not feel safe enough to stay. Whatever the case, it made things far more peaceful, and all the more beautiful. The heart of _Roma_ was just to the north and the east, and opposite to that was the vast and just as beautiful countryside. _Tiberina_ was the perfect spot in the middle, and it made things all the better for the man and his daughter. He even had a favorite spot with her, a small bench near one of the higher points, that had a grand view of both the city and countryside, the river diving it down the middle. There he held her in his lap, leaning back against the wall of a building, and hummed softly. Diana fiddled with her new things, including a book they'd picked up, which she read aloud. Her abilities had grown a great deal since her education, and so her level of reading had increased as well. Ezio swelled with pride as she spoke without stuttering, wondering how he could be so blessed with a wonderful child.

"Your tutor must be elated with your progress," he chuckled as he brushed some of her loose hair back, making sure to do it as his mother had taught him. He was her main care taker now, despite her tutor and the maid he'd been given—chosen by Machiavelli personally—and he preferred it that way. His wife normally would have seen to it, as she had some innate affinity for it he lacked and could never fully understand, but they were all each other had right now, so he took enjoyment with it. Diana liked it, too, he'd come to notice.

"Yep! Although, she still fusses over how I talk, but I don't think that matters much. As long as I write okay and read and speak the other languages, what does it matter how I talk in Italian? You and Mama talk this way. Uncle and 'Vanni and 'Rico did, too," she huffed, holding her head haughtily.

Ezio chuckled, "You are quite the devilish child. When did you learn to be so cheeky?"

"Mama said from you, but you say from her," the girl hummed, pulling a laugh from her father. Silence followed once he settled, though, and he sensed a change in the little girl in his arms. He shifted, leaning forward to look at her. The book was flat on her lap, hands spread on top, but her gaze was to the city. Her dark eyes were glazed over some, her mind somewhere else. He waited as she thought, and was attentive when she finally looked to him. "Papa… is Mama where Uncle Mario and Ottavio and 'Rico are?"

His heart dropped as he swallowed hard, "What do you mean, little one?"

"My tutor has me reading the Bible… We talked about Heaven," she replied, looking back out to the landscape. "Auntie and Grandma try to hide it, but when they visit… they mention things. Auntie misses them—says they're in Heaven. They've been gone since we left home… since Mama left. Is Mama in Heaven, too?"

When she looked to him again, Ezio nearly broke. He hadn't done so for a long, long time; months now—not since Rodrigo Borgia had told him his Catherine was gone; that he had been too late. He had held it together after that dreadful night because he had to. Diana had needed him, and Rodrigo had not said his wife was dead. Just gone. Taken away. His second child, too, was supposedly gone, and while he had told himself all this time they were still alive, he couldn't deny the possibility they could be dead. It was a reality he refused to fully accept to, but the thought was there: that he had failed them. He had been too slow; too uncertain; too weak. He should have acted faster, more firmly, and because he couldn't be that man, he couldn't save them.

And yet, he forced himself to hold on to hope as much as he'd forced himself to remain strong for his Diana. He couldn't keep smiling if he didn't, and his daughter needed his smile; needed him to believe. She needed her mother, and, in time, she would need her new brother or sister. So he pushed back his fears, which threatened to render his will to nothing but dust, and smiled at his little girl. He brushed her cheek gently and kissed her brow.

"No, Diana, your Mama is not in Heaven. She is alive. I can feel it—in my heart. She's alive and fighting the bad man who hurt us."

Diana waited a moment before frowning, "Then why doesn't she come home? Doesn't she miss us?"

"Of course she does… it's just not safe for her to come back yet, but she will."

"What if she's in trouble, though? Auntie always told me how you do dangerous things. You and Mama. What if she's hurt?"

He pulled her closer, "Then I'll find her. I'll find her and bring her back—to you. To us."

"…You promise?" she asked quietly, a small hand coming to grab his fingers. He squeezed hers right on back, pressing his head against hers.

"I swear it," he whispered softly. She pulled away suddenly, surprising him, but then shifted so she could look right at him—directly into his eyes. She watched him for a good, long while, as if seeing deeper. A part of him feared she could see the truth, so he did his best to believe in his frail hope.

"…Okay. I trust you, Papa," she said at last, reaching up to touch his cheeks. Ezio let out a silent sigh of relief and kissed her palm.

"You are a kind girl… but I think it is time we head back."

"Aww, do we have to?" she huffed, her inner child—that innocence he adored—returning. She pouted when he nodded, "Ugh. _Fiiiine_ … I'm hungry, anyways."

"We'll have Francesca make your favorite for lunch. Come on then," the Assassin chuckled as he nudged his daughter from his lap. He took her hand in his, and they made back for the hideout. As always, he kept watch on those around him, although he was laxer here. Still, one could not be too safe, and he would be sure to take the main entrance in this garb. He had to pause, though, as an odd conversation reached his ears.

"—wolf men!"

The Assassin frowned as he suddenly crouched down and raised a finger to his lips. His daughter nodded, and, although she didn't fully understand, she pretended to be busy with something. They were thankfully near a bench so he was able to sit there, pretending to be nothing but a passerby with his child as he listened in.

"They've been so crazy lately! They attacked some poor courier!" a male voice rasped. When Ezio followed it, he found an older man, perhaps around his age, speaking with a younger fellow. They both looked stressed, or at least exasperated by things. If it involved the Followers of Romulus, he wasn't surprised.

"They weren't _this_ bad before! I think it's _La Lupa!_ "

The older man scoffed, " _La Lupa_?"

"Yes! Don't you know the rumors? Some woman dressed as a white wolf has been attacking the wolf men!"

"I _know_ the rumors, but she's a follower, too! She attacks the couriers! She's probably their new leader."

"You think the wolf men would let _her_ lead them? Bah! She's causing the unrest! I would bet my life on it! She's making them more—more _wild_."

"More like sending them out, making them more bold!" the older man snapped, but then shook his head and waved a hand. "Bah, just talking about is making my gut uneasy. _La Lupa_ or Wolf men or whatever, they're causing trouble. Wish the Borgia would do something about it! All they do is bully us and take our coin!"

The younger man jerked, eyes shooting this way and that, "Don't speak so loud! Sure, they don't come here, but they're always listening! We should just stop talking about it entirely! I don't need the Wolf men _or_ the Borgia or that _La Lupa_ coming after me!"

Ezio let the conversation drift from his focus, mind mulling over what he'd heard. The Followers of Romulus acting up—again? He'd dealt with some before, but he'd only found one other entrance since his first encounter. They were sneaky devils, and their dens were near impossible to find although he knew their sigil. It seemed he needed to go hunting again, lest they cause more trouble for the people. Better yet, if he did, the Borgia had less men on their side—less influence over the people. He did not know anything of this _La Lupa_ , nor had he encountered the person before despite their uniqueness. A follower that was a woman was certainly unusual, although whether she was an ally or foe was hard to tell. He hoped the former, but if it was the latter, then perhaps he had found the key to disrupting the Followers activities.

"Come, Diana. It seems I have work to do," he spoke softly and started moving again.

"Okay, Papa. Gonna fight the bad guys?" she asked, to which he nodded.

"Yes. I have to go take care of some bad men. You stay here with the maid and don't leave until I come back, alright?"

"Don't worry, Papa, I know. And if danger comes I use the tunnels to go to Uncle Machiavelli's."

"That's my girl."

 **-O-**

Ezio peered through the bars of the tunnel, making sure no guards were around, and then slipped out of the underground tunnel entrance and into the afternoon crowd. He was in the more up-scale section of the city, so more Borgia were about, but he needed to pay a visit to a particular comrade—one who might help him locate the Followers and tell him a bit more of what was going on. Rumors were only so much to go on, although more often than not "so much" turned into a lot, and he wanted more details before he rushed in. As such, he ventured through the streets, making sure to avoid too much unwanted attention, and slipped into an alleyway behind a manor. He scaled the metal fence and dropped down into an extravagant garden that even had a fountain. He came to the side door, rapped twice, and after a few moments a young steward opened the door for him. He slipped in and went ahead of the young lad into a study where a familiar face was busy mulling through a book and stack of papers.

"Good to see you, Ezio, although I am a bit surprised at your visit. You normally send word," Machiavelli hummed, book still in hand.

"My apologies—this was an unplanned visit. Don't worry, I'll be quick. I just need information about some rumors I heard today," he explained as he approached. The man glanced at him, acknowledging his words. "Word of the Followers of Romulus came up. Something about them acting up—and a potential new leader. Or ally.

Machiavelli paused in his reading, brow raised, so he went on, "Apparently a _woman_ Follower… of sorts. They said they call her _La Lupa_. They think she's either a new leader or an enemy. No confirmation. Either way, they think she's causing them to act up. Have you heard of this?"

"Hmm… I have heard talk of the Followers attacking more in the last few months, though nothing terribly serious… but this _La Lupa_ is new. To me, at least. That is the name of the she-wolf that suckled Romulus, suggesting a potential leader, but the Followers have never been known to have women in their ranks. Rather, they treat them quite poorly, so this is quite a strange thing."

"It seems I must investigate then—and stop the Followers causing trouble. I don't know _where_ attacks have been happening, however."

Machiavelli stood, turning to his shelf where he began to shift through books, "Luckily _I_ do… or at least I have been keeping track. As it stands, the majority of trouble lately has been around the Pyramid of Cestius. There should be an entrance there… my men have not found anything, but I imagine you will have more luck."

"The Pyramid, hmm? Very well. Thank-you, Machiavelli. I will report my findings when I return. Oh, and Diana sends her regards," he chuckled, and was almost a little surprised to have the man smile.

"Let her know I send my warmest in kind. I admit… it is a bit less… excitable around here with her."

"Unfortunately for you, I have no intentions of giving her back. I'll see you later, my friend," Ezio chuckled, bowing his head, and leaving the exact same way he came.

He didn't have the route to the Pyramid of Cestius secured in his underground pathways, so he rode by horse instead. By no means a short ride, but not too long either; easily an hour or two at most, and shorter than walking. It was hardly evening by the time he reached the unusual construct; a face of a pyramid made of bricks that had some missing in spots and weathered sections. Vines had begun to grow here and there, and plenty of dust and grime had settled in places. He could not see an entrance. However, with a quick inspection—and a bit of help from his Vision—he finally found the damned sigil set upon a bronze plate, a wolf skull emplaced just above it, and a mark in the stone below. It was set against the face of a brick wall, and, like the other entrances, he rigged it to open with the help of his Hidden Blade. He pressed it open, noting the darkness waiting for him—and a steep slope to slide down on. He didn't quite understand why the Followers enjoyed such sliding, but he would endure it. Grumbling slightly, he lifted the panel, pulled himself in, and let his body slide down the slope.

It was not as easy a slide as he would have liked, and it ended with his body slipping out of a small indent in the wall and onto a fairly cold floor. If not for his gear, he might have shivered. Instead, he was kept comfortable—except for the skeleton bones he felt poking into his chest. He scowled at the sight and quickly stood up, brushing himself off. A glance around told him he was in a catacomb, the rather precise rectangular indents filled with bodies a pretty clear indication. There was only one way to go, and he could not help noticing there were torches set up—someone was using the tunnels. He had a feeling it was the Followers. There was only one way to find out, however, and so he began to walk the tunnels.

It was a much farther venture than he had expected, and possibly one of the lengthiest and most complex lairs he had come by thus far. Beyond skirting around corner of endless graves, leaping across pillars and platforms awaited him, and even after crossing perilous chasms, he ended up upon a wooden dock of sorts that overlooked perhaps the deepest chasm of all. It was in a particularly well-decorated and fancy grave—perhaps a nobleman's'—and the hole went on for quite some ways based upon the torch he dropped. Yet, it was the only way forward, and he _knew_ the Followers were there. He hadn't failed to notice the signs during his trip here, including the fleeting glimpse of a figure racing past his sight in the hallways. So, he took the leap of faith downwards into the darkness.

To his surprise, and annoyance, more catacombs waited him below. Once catching himself on the ledges below and leaping to the new set of tunnels, he again set off. It was bothersome, but if it meant finding the Followers and this _La Lupa_ , he would do it. Still, he would have liked if the Followers used more reasonable ways of getting to their Lairs.

His endurance and patience paid off, however, as he, at long last, came to a large room with a tall, double door, one of them already pushed open. The walls were adorned with ornate carvings in the rocky earth, and the door itself had intricate etchings and thick, metal rings. He passed through without hesitation, of course, and found himself with what might have been a church, but was most likely yet more of a tomb. It appeared still half-constructed in places, but it was occupied: a large fire was burning strong in a make-shift heart, and furniture had been moved around, some chairs overturned, while others upright. Better yet—there, in the distance; by the tall, imposing cross, was a figure. He could just barely make them out, but it was definitely a man and he was adorned in a wolf's coat. Above him, on a platform, was yet another man dressed in a wolf's skin.

At last.

"I seek those who lead the Followers of Romulus!" he bellowed, waltzing forward. The Follower at the base of the cross jerked, caught off guard, and quickly scrambled up towards the platform where his companion was. Ezio rolled his eyes, and made to give chase, but paused as a howl of pain rang out. He frowned, eyes narrowing as curses rang out as did the clang of steel. From the platform a body flew, falling to the ground below. The second follower came from the tunnel above as the Assassin darted towards them. He heard them grunt and then stagger back, slipping off the edge. In their place was another figure, this one with a decidedly different frame. It was a woman by the curves and the slimmer waist, and upon their head was the muzzle of a white wolf, one eye dark while the other still contained a golden iris. They wore white fur along the edges of their vest, and on their hip was an array of daggers to go with the one still in their hand. The Follower's gaze met his, though it was hidden beneath the wolf skin's white fur, almost shining like moonlight in the dark.

"Are you _La Lupa_?" he shouted to her, though he knew the answer.

"Are you one of the Assassins? You bear their colors," came the reply, and even he couldn't see her body, he could tell it was a woman's voice. It was a bit hoarse, though, and oddly seemed familiar. It was a silly thought, which he pushed away as he stepped closer.

"I am. Are you one of the Followers?"

"Never," she spat, venom in her voice. "I am retribution—to them and their Borgia masters."

"Then we are allies—the Assassins are no friend to the Borgia, and I seek to eliminate the leader of the Followers."

"Then it seems our goals are aligned."

He stepped closer, while she never moved, "Then perhaps we can help one another? I would be grateful for the aid of one who knows the lairs well."

"If you can make it up, perhaps we will see," the woman mused, gesturing with her dagger towards her feet. "They cut the rope."

"No problem—you will find us Assassins are quite the climbers," he chuckled, already glancing around for a way up. It didn't take long.

"Cocky, as well, it seems," she hummed back, and he could not help enjoying her wit, although he was not fool enough to let his guard down so quick.

He paused, though, considering something, "How do you know of the Assassins, but you are not of our enemies?"

"If you prove your worth, perhaps I will tell you. Good luck, Assassin," the woman called, turning around suddenly.

"Wait! What is your name?" he called, but she was already gone. Ezio sighed, but let it go as he began his climb up and mulled on his situation.

He could not consider the woman his ally, but she wasn't an enemy, per se. She had an obvious, deep hatred for the Followers—and the Borgia. That was something useful, and it could mean an alliance, which he needed for one who obviously knew the lairs of the Followers. How else would she be able to get behind them while wearing their garbs? It seemed the rumors had some truth then, although he could not help but wonder _how_ they had come about. Furthermore, how did a woman get involved with the Followers in such a way? Who was she? How did she know the Assassins? Had she been one? From another country? The only Assassins here were himself, Catherine, and then their allies, but he doubted a courtesan would come to this life, and his wife was gone.

Unfortunately, his questions would only grow the longer he waited, so he kept them aside for now, focusing instead on his climb. It was complex, but no different than most of his other ventures and he managed to reach the cross within a few minutes. He vaulted to the wooden ledge after and was only a little disappointed when the woman was not there. She had left quite the bloody scene in the hallway, yet another follower left with his throat slit, blood staining his clothes, but otherwise she was gone. He was not surprised she had not waited, though, and so continued on. If she were truly an ally, they would meet again. And if she were truly an enemy, then they would still meet again, and it would be a clash of swords rather than words.

The journey through the catacombs was shorter this time, and when it ended, he came upon an archway leading into a small, circular room in terms of diameter, but reached many stories up. All around were pillars supporting the walls and floors, and in the center was a massive pillar with multiple levels of wooden platforms that made for an effective way up. All along the upper levels sections were missing, long since collapsed though the rest looked sturdy. The room was dark, lit by only torches. It was certainly foreboding, but he had faced worse things.

A howl rang through the expanse, followed by a malicious laughter and the scrape of metal against stone. A man emerged from around the pillar, a feral grin on his face to match that of his wolf skin. He was not alone, though; more Followers emerged from the shadows and the upper levels. Behind him, the portal he came through was sealed by an iron gate. The first man to appear flashed a toothy grin and spread his arms wide, flaunting his "power".

"Hear us, oh Romulus, what must we do this trespasser?" a voice spoke, echoing from above. Ezio knew at once it belonged to one of the men he sought. His followers snarled and growled like beasts as they came closer. He did not see the man who had spoken, however. No doubt he watched from some hidden enclave, letting his followers do his dirty work.

"Do not listen!" he bade, hoping they might hear him. Though he had killed many of the wolf men thus far, he knew some were simply brain-washed; influenced by pretty words and false power. False gods. Such men might be swayed to see another way. "Only the Borgia speak through him, not your god!"

"Romulus says that the Assassin must die!"

His Followers snarled again, acting more beast than man now. Ezio lamented it, but he would have to kill him. He glanced around quickly, looking for white among the dark coats. So far he saw none, and wondered if the " _La Lupa_ " had been a figment of his imagination, or perhaps she had just been lying. Either way, he would have to fight.

"Go, my wolves! Kill hi—," the voice started, but was cut short. All paused as a body fell from above and crashed to the ground, blood and gore splattering from the broken body. Not a moment later, another follower, this one of feminine frame and a white-skinned wolf upon her brow, appeared on the banister high above. She threw herself downwards, landing upon the railing where she balanced herself well enough to use her dagger to cut the throat of the unlucky Follower who had been too close to it. She dropped down from there, right next to the body of her first victim. Around him, Ezio saw the Followers stir, and, just barely, he made out hushes; anxious whispers.

"Your voice of Romulus—your _false_ God—is _dead_. Who wishes to join him?" the woman barked, arms spreading in challenge. Snarls followed, along with quick, sharp barks.

"She-bitch!" one hissed.

"Traitor!"

"You dare decal yourself _La Lupa!_ Defiler! Liar!"

"Kill her!"

"Rip her throat apart!"

"Gouge out her heart!"

"Tear out her organs!"

The man began to converge, the woman's presence driving them into a savagely wild, blind fury. If he had any doubt the woman was the cause of the rumors, they were quashed. The rage she instilled in the men was genuine, and already they had practically forgotten him as they converged.

The woman crouched slightly, drawing a second dagger, "You are welcome to _try_."

The first Follower lunged, aiming for her backside, but she spun, blocking his dagger with her own, and then shoved the other into his gut and pulled it across his body. Blood poured out, along with some of his intestines and he dropped, gasping in agony. She let him go in favor of taking on the next, ducking beneath his strike and shoving one dagger into his groin—Ezio couldn't help but wince—and the other into his throat. Like the other, she let him drop as she drug her weapons free before readying for her next attacker. He would never reach her, though, as Ezio surged forward at the same time and used his Hidden Blade to stab the man in the side, knocking him down. The woman faced him slightly, still ready to block any daggers, and he liked to think she had a brow raised.

"Here to prove your worth?"

"I'm not one to leave a woman to fight wolves alone," he chuckled, and he heard her snort—with amusement.

"Very well, Assassin. Let us hunt," she mused, and the fight was on.

More Followers came, those from above finally joining the fray. They attacked like mad dogs, frothing at the mouth almost, and slicing with their claws. They were not skilled fighters, though; their blows were basic at best, unkempt at worst, and showed no signs of proper training. But why would they? They were meant to scare and occasionally harm a civilian—although sometimes they killed them—which didn't require much in the ways of finesse. As such, Ezio found it easy to block and evade their blows, although some came close due to their great numbers. _That_ they had going for them, but his years of practice kept him aloof and bringing them down slowly, one by one.

When he could, the Assassin watched the woman, and was somewhat surprised to find she was never far from him—her back to his. He hadn't fully noticed until now, but he could not recall needing to cover his back in their fight. She instinctively knew to do it, and when he saw more of her moves, there were hints of technique, covered by an unexpected savagery. She showed no mercy, and her moves were quick, powerful, and left no chance of survival. She was a trained killer. It reminded him of his own skills.

Who _was_ she?

"Assassin!" she suddenly snapped, and he barely had time to dodge as her dagger came by his face, blocking another meant for his brow. It knocked hers from her hand, but she caught his wrist, and spun downward in such a way the man flew over her and hit the ground. Her other dagger found itself imbedded in the man's neck before she wrenched it free, slicing his throat open up to his chin. Ezio watched, wide-eyed briefly, before ducking another Follower's attack, and ending him quickly. The move—it had been so odd, yet familiar. It made his mind race, though he barely had time to comprehend it.

"Do you want to die!? Don't let your guard down!" she growled at him, and he was glad she could not see his embarrassed look. Instead, he freed his sword and tossed it to her.

"For saving my face," he hummed, shifting so his back was to hers. He sensed her do the same, flicking the blade out and then up. She knew how to use it. She knew a lot of things.

"I'm sure your mother still would have loved it."

The rest of the Followers came, and they danced. They moved, as if sensing the other; her sword slicing through flesh, and his Hidden Blade parrying daggers and thrusting through armor to vital organs. As men fell, the two hunters twirled and spun, but always reunited in the center; back to back, never letting their guard down; never leaving the other exposed. It was a dance he knew but had not played out in an eternity, and it brought back a flood of memories he had kept at bay. It brought with it endless of questions, filled with hope and uncertainty, and disbelief, which ate at him as the wolves fell one by one.

And then it was done.

The dance was over. The drums of war ended, and the hunt was complete. All around, wolves lay dead, their blood painting the floor red and their daggers littering the stone with metal. Ezio looked around, both pleased and dismayed at the sight. So much death for a false gods, crafted by the Borgia to draw the people to the Church. Yet, it had to be done. He could not let them go on.

"Your sword—and my thanks. It seems Cesare underestimated the Assassins if they were able to come here without his knowing," the woman mused, holding out the weapon to him. He took it, gaze lingering on her as he sheathed the blade. He still could not make out her features, the white pelt hiding them perfectly, but he could see now she was quite fit and had wide, rounded hips to accent her hourglass shape. She was shorter than him, perhaps by inches, and carried herself like a warrior. Her voice, yet again, was familiar. Nostalgic even. It made his mind—and his heart—race.

It couldn't be, though.

It _couldn't_.

Yet the thought plagued him.

"I would call you _La Lupa_ , my Lady… but I do not think that is your name, is it?" he inquired as she went by, making for the leader she had slain at the beginning. She turned him over, looking for something.

"No, it is not. A silly title, one they now rue," she replied simply, not looking up at him. "It has it's perks."

"Might I know yours then? We are to be allies, no?" he pressed, heart hammering in his head now. He needed to know her name. See her face. He had to know the truth.

"Shouldn't a gentleman introduce himself first?" she quipped, and his hope soared again. Whatever she wanted from the man, she didn't seem to find, and sighed with exasperation as she stood up. At the same time, the Assassin pulled back his hood, revealing his face.

"My name… is Ezio Auditore da _Firenze_."

The woman paused and then spun around. She said nothing, her mouth perhaps agape, but then—a gasp. A strange, almost garbled sound of confusion and something else. He saw her shake as her hands reached up to her wolf head cowl and pulled it back.

"You're _alive_."

Ezio's heart stopped.

Her hair had been cut, the once long locks tamed by a ponytail were now a short, tangled mess that fell to her shoulders with one side slightly longer than the other. He could tell a few strands of her front bangs were a bit matted, perhaps with blood. Dirt had been smudged on her face, but he could still make out her freckles clearly. A scar ran across her face, from the left side of her cheek, almost to her nose. Her face looked thinner and a little paler, but her hazel eyes were still strong and bright. There was a change, though—something in the depth of those irises was off. He could not say what, but even so.

It was Catherine. _His_ Catherine. His wife. His love. His _Catherine_.

She was alive.

Despite everything and all his fears, she stood before him—right here. Right now.

It was if he could suddenly breathe again. The weight that had held him down for so long lifted, and the world felt new again. The anguish from the morning felt so far away, and a part of him that had been missing for so long came back to him in a rush. It nearly brought him to his knees and at the same time lifted him high above the dark ceiling. The months of sorrow were washed away in that moment, and it was if they never happened as happiness filled him instead.

His feet moved without his knowing, and he had her in his grasp. He held her tight and crashed his lips against hers. Her arms latched around him at once, and a passion he had once forgotten burst inside him. Any pain and agony that might have lingered were completed erased as pure relief and joy washed over him. He let out a sob of sorts, his eyes brimming with tears, and he pulled away only to push his forehead to hers. She let out was sounded like a half-sob, half-laugh as she reached up to cup his face. He could barely breathe or even think with how loud his heart beat, swollen with happiness. His hope had been made real. Catherine was here, in his arms, alive.

He had found her.

"God, I can't believe—I thought…" he rasped, pulling her closer to him.

She drew her thumb across his lips, eyes roving over him, "I thought you'd _died_. Cesare said he killed you. I—God, I thought… I thought I'd never… but you're _here_. You're really here. Please tell me you're real. Please don't let this be a dream."

"No—no, no, I'm real. I'm so very real. I'm real, Catherine. It's me. Oh, God, you're here. I found you. I finally found you. I found you," he sobbed and kissed her again. The moment lasted much longer, the world around them forgotten as the lovers reunited, long forgotten joy renewed.

"How did you come here—to this place?" he asked after another pause, barely able to contain himself but forcing his exuberance down.

"It's—so much has happened," she spoke, her voice near a whisper now, and he suddenly realized how hoarse and tired it sounded. Her eyes grew dark, too; something hiding within the green color. Her fingers clenched, and he sensed her tense, but it was only for a moment before her body relaxed and returned to how it was. Questions slammed against his mind, anyways: what had happened to her? Where had she been for all this time? What did the Borgia do to her? What did the Followers do to her?

"You must tell me… but—Gods… Diana! Oh, Diana, she needs to see you! She's missed you so much! Everyone needs to see you—to know you're alive! There's so much to say—to do!" he gasped, cupping her face in his hands. She smiled, leaning into his touch. It was an act they had done so much before, yet he could not help thinking it seemed different. Her smile was off, but what of it? She was _alive_. That was all that _really_ mattered.

"She's okay? She's alright? She made it out?" the redhead rasped, grasping his shirt tightly.

He nodded, "Yes! Diana, Claudia, and Maria—and Giovanni! They made it out! We have to bring you to the hideout! We have a new home. I've been rebuilding the Order and—oh, Gods, you're alive, and just—!"

"Take me to her, Ezio. Please. I need to see her. I need to see Diana," Catherine spoke quietly, the desperation palpable. He paused, surprised, but nodded, and kissed her one last time, putting all the love he could into it. He brushed a lock out of the way, although it fell back anyways, too short to go behind her ear. He smiled as best he could as he took her hand in his, fingers entwined.

"Let's go home, my love," he spoke softly, and, the carnage around them forgotten, they ascended the spire, and ventured back out into the world above.

* * *

 **12 –** _End_

* * *

 ** _TMWolf:_** _So, again, a LOT of time has passed even though it's only been one chapter and I hate how it feels like, to me, it's not shown well but blah. *flails*_

 _Also, if you think this is going to go to happy places..._

 _Well that's where you're wrong ;)_

 _Have fun noticing all the signs in this chapter the the ones coming yaaaaaaaaay._


	13. Omen

**TMWolf:** _Sorry for the delay guys! Life has been... occupied by other things. A mix of writing things for school, my work, and I just really wanted to do some gaming instead of writing, so there's that. But I'm back with an update!_

 _So, uh, real quick, because it's probably important: This chapter is VERY, VERY DARK. Like, I think I probably should put a trigger warning for some people? It's one of **those** chapters, basically, so... be prepared. Some f'd up shit is about to go down and you're going to get a look into the second big conflict of our couple..._

 _But for now: thank-you for your reviews! They mean so much! I seriously love them and knowing y'all are enjoying the story! X)_

 _The song for this chapter is Disclosure - Omen (ft. Sam Smith), and the title totally fits. You'll see._

 _Right. So. Like I said: be prepared for some gruesome, trigger-worthy stuff. **SENSITIVE EVENTS HAPPEN OR ARE ALLUDED TO. I warned y'all, so don't say I didn't. Disclaimer out.**_

* * *

 **13** – _Omen_

* * *

 **January 31, 1501**

 **Rome, Italy**

Night had fallen upon _Roma_ during his venture through the catacombs, so the hour was late. The moon looked to be already halfway across the sky, for which he was both surprised and grateful for. It made appearing from a hidden walkway into the city much easier. For himself it was not such an ordeal, but on the way out from the Lair he had finally considered his wife's appearance. She wore a white wolf pelt, a bit worn and torn and stained with blood, and her armor was just as wild. Her blue tunic was tattered and ripped in places and had dark stains. She wore a white under shirt, and her pants were white as well, but looked old from use. Those, too, had stains. He couldn't help noticing she had an odor to her as well—one of a person who had not bathed in some time, but also of death; more than one should ever smell like.

Yet, that would have meant nothing to him over the fact he had his wife back—that is, if not for the silence. He had not noticed it at first, his overwhelming joy blinding him to it. As they ventured to the surface, though, and found mounts to ride back to the hideout, he began to take note. Since they had begun their trek home, Catherine had said nothing. She was quiet and when he looked back her face was impassive—except for her eyes. In those he saw an intensity he did not recognize. A strange, dark inferno that made him worry. The silence, though, was the worst. The mad, deafening silence.

Ezio forced himself to believe it was just his mind playing tricks. She had faced an ordeal he could not fathom, but the happiness she expressed in the catacombs had been real. The passion in their kiss had been real. This moment of silence simply had to be something else—perhaps she was just overcome with relief and maybe disbelief. Hell, he could scarcely believe this was real himself; to have his wife riding beside him on a horse to their new home. It didn't seem real at all. But it was. He knew it was. So he pushed the nagging feeling in his gut, and instead allowed his joy to return and overcome him.

After nearly a year of separation, they were together once more. That was all there was to think of. Or it should have been.

As such, the Assassin could not help frowning as his mind continued to linger upon his observations. Even when they came upon the island, the streets empty at such a late hour, he would glance back at Catherine on her mount, see her eyes essentially unblinking and ever forward. The questions swirled and swelled, but he did not give them sound as they dismounted. Rather, he came to her, brushing her cheek gently. A small amount of relief came to him when she leaned into his touch, but it faltered when she smiled. It was not sincere—or rather not fully. It lacked something. It did not reach her eyes like he remembered

For all the joy he had felt but perhaps an hour ago, Ezio began to worry.

"So, this is the new hideout?" she asked, her voice quiet, and still a bit hoarse. Her gaze went to the tall, stone building, and he nodded.

"Yes—it's bigger than it looks. Come, Diana's room is higher up, but we must go down to enter," he chuckled, holding out his hand to her. Again, her smile did not reach her eyes, but she took his hand, and joy came to him again. To have her fingers within his grasp was just too much for his worries to match, although they would be back.

"How has she been?" Catherine asked, following him as he tugged her within the stone fortress.

He looked back at her, a small smile on his own face, "She has missed you greatly… but she's kept busy with her studies. Machiavelli started her on them, and she's been keen to continue. She's as intelligent as you are."

"She always did take after me a bit more, didn't she?" the redhead hummed, chuckling even. Ezio chose to ignore the strange feeling he got from her tone, and instead chuckled with her as he led her up the stairs inside.

"Just a little… ah, here. Her room is right here," he replied, coming to the first door in the upper hallway.

He refrained from knocking, realizing the late hour, but pressed the door open slowly anyways. The light of the hallway's torches shot a beam into the room, hitting their daughter's bed in the center. Diana was sound asleep, not the least bit disturbed by their entry. Ezio pushed the door open a bit more to allow Catherine in, although his love paused in the doorway. She didn't breathe at first, staring at their daughter's sleeping form as if in a trace. He watched her carefully, saw a flurry of emotions wash over her face. He moved to touch the small of her back, to urge her to go forward, but she did it on her own instead. Slow at first, but then she crossed the gap between her and the bed and stood beside their child.

Diana remained asleep, snoozing peacefully as her mother looked down on her, though he could no longer read her face. He kept back, wanting her to have the moment to herself. Catherine reached out then, hand nearly brushing the red locks that were so like her own. The child turned in her sleep then, revealing her perfect, freckled face. Her mother's hand came closer, but then paused, lingering just inches away. It drew away a moment later, and when she turned back around there was a sad smile there. Catherine walked back to Ezio, whom grasped her hand gently.

She looked to him briefly, "I don't want to wake her… and see me like this."

"Alright," he replied, barely at a whisper. "I'll take you to our quarters…and draw a bath."

"I could probably use one," she chuckled, and for once it felt genuine. He smiled back, squeezing her hand, and closed Diana's door. He led her up another set of stairs, to the "master" suite of the tower. It was not unlike the _Villa_ in that way, although the room wasn't nearly as lavish. It was still a fine spot, some of the best wood and furnishing reserved for it. It had windows that filtered in silver moonlight, illuminating the large bed and its cotton sheets. There were a few dressers, a vanity, and even a desk along with a tub to one side—just what she needed.

"Here, sit, I'll ready it, although, I don't think I'll be able to get it very warm," he spoke gently, kissing her cheek before he finally left her side and began to prep the water.

"It's fine—I don't have to have it warm," she replied, moving over to the vanity instead of the bed. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he relied upon the hideout's piping structure to fill the tub. How it worked, he couldn't fathom, but he was glad for it as the water began to flow. She pulled off the wolf pelt first, lying it upon the vanity's edge. Her hair was messier than he had realized, and had been badly cut. The back was longer than the front, but would not tie into a ponytail easily anymore. He didn't dare imagine how it had happened.

Catherine began to slip off her bracers, belt, and boots next, revealing pale hands and feet. She undid her tunic, letting it drop, and then unbuttoned her shirt. A part of him thought he should look away, as foolish as that was being her husband, but even if he had tried, the sight of her back once she removed her undershirt would have made such a thing moot. His breath hitched in his throat and his chest clenched tight. Scars—all along her shoulders and a bit of her lower back. They looked like whip marks, and some wounds from a blade. They were new, and not from their long journeys together before this. They had healed some time ago, but they were still visible, even if only a little for some. A mixture of sorrow and rage filled him, knowing only the Borgia could have inflicted them upon her. Those bastards had done this to her. To _his_ Catherine.

He forced himself to look away as she pulled down her pants, his anger sure to get the best of him if he didn't. Still, he vowed revenge on Cesare for this—for marring his beautiful wife in this way. Oh, the scars hardly detracted her beauty, but he had heard of the pain of the lash. He had never endured it himself, but he heard the screams of those who had, and to know his _wife_ had suffered it? He couldn't barely keep himself from striking the floor board. He held back, though, and turned his attention the beautiful creature that approached him, her smile suddenly the most radiant thing in the dimly lit room. He held his hand for her, which she took, and helped ease her into the tub.

Some of the dirt on her body came off at once, but the rest remained caked on. There was more on her than he realized, even on the flesh that had been under her clothes. Some of it blotted out her freckles, and he could not help noticing other, smaller scars he did not recall her having before. From the Borgia, too? Or the Followers? What in God's name had happened to her?

Shame struck him. Sorrow, too, but mostly shame. His wife had suffered all this time, and what had he done? Lived well, succeeded in his ventured in Rome—save for rescuing her. Oh, he'd felt sorrow and despair and such agony, but she had no doubt felt the same. She had endured all he had and _more_. So much more. How she could even be here in the tub now astounded him, and he hated himself for having not suffered even an ounce of what she had.

"What? Not going to join me?" her voice cooed, breaching his solemn thoughts. He blinked, managing to chuckle, and brushed a lock of wet hair from her cheek.

"Not tonight—I want to focus on you… may I?" he asked, pulling a rag off the side of the tub.

She held out her arm to him, "You may. Do… forgive my state. I've… been unable to bathe for some time."

"You know I don't care about that. You're _alive_. You could be covered in waste and I still would only be filled with joy," he grinned, taking her hand in his and beginning to wipe at her skin. Thankfully, the grime came off easily enough, and her freckles appeared once more.

"Your nose might think otherwise… but I am glad you're alive. So very glad… I tried to hold on to the hope… but… when Cesare showed me your bloody sleeve… he told me he'd killed you," she murmured, so soft he almost didn't hear. He felt her fingers on his face, though, the rough knuckles brushing his skin now that he'd moved to her neck. "I believed him… I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

"Don't—don't you apologize," he replied quickly, leaning forward to take her head in his hands and press their brows together. "It's my fault… I didn't get to you in time. _I'm_ the one who should apologize, Catherine."

"Ah… I haven't heard my name in so long," she uttered, and his chest clenched again. "It sounds good to hear it."

"I'll say it as many times as you like—even if my throat begins to bleed," he chuckled, and though she grinned, it felt lacking. Again, his concerns returned, but he knew the rest had been true. She was sincere, but there was something else there. He couldn't place what, but it did worry him.

"Well, I prefer to hear your voice, so don't strain too hard."

"I'll do my best, my love," he replied, kissing her brow, and then continued his work. He scrubbed her face gently, removing the dirt and grime there as well, and then worked gently with her hair. He wet it more, and slowly, carefully, worked through the snarls and tangles. He managed to free the locks from the matted bits and got it close to resembling how it was before. Her bangs were longer than before, but the back had been hacked off by a blade of some sorts now that he could look closer. He restrained himself from imagining how as he cleaned her other arm and then worked downwards, not missing the bruises along her pale flesh. Each burned him, and he hated himself even more, no matter if she did not blame him.

He kept himself in check as he scrubbed the rest of her, being sure to be slow and methodical, but also gentle and soothing. He wanted to ensure she enjoyed this—to have some measure of peace after everything. It was the least he could do. Truthfully, he wanted nothing more than to embrace her and kiss her and never let her go again, but, in a way, he wasn't sure if he should—not now, anyways. He wasn't worthy to do so.

"How's that?" he asked as he wiped the last bit of dirt from her leg.

She smiled, this time sincerely, "Better."

Catherine stood up then, and he saw more of her scars—the smaller ones on her legs. Again her back was exposed to him as she began to step out, and he scrambled for a towel to dry her. She let him do that, too, wiping her down as gently as he had before, and be extra careful with her hair. He lingered by her once he finished, the towel wrapped around her shoulders as he pressed his brow to hers. There was so much he yearned to say, but his lips would not move. She must have known, for she smiled slightly again and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

"I need to borrow your clothes to sleep in."

"Ah," was all he managed, and left her there with the towel to drag her out a shirt and trousers. She slipped them on, and it was almost as though things were like before, but they weren't. They were very different, and he couldn't bring himself to move as she ventured to the bed. Her hand caressed the sheets, as if it were something so new, and then she slipped beneath them, resting her head on the pillow. At last, he saw her relax— _truly_ relax, though he didn't know for how long it would last.

It was then he finally stripped himself, pulling off his armor and attire until he was in naught but his trousers. He slipped in on the other side, facing her quietly. He gazed upon her face, her eyes closed as if she had already fallen asleep, but he could sense she was still awake. Though she had seemed reposed earlier, he could feel her tension, even with space between them. His throat tightened, gaze dropping, and he wondered if he had the right to be here next to her. What kind of husband was he, after all? Yet, even as the guilt ate him he reached for her, as she had to Diana, and, like her, he paused and let his hand drop.

Her eyes opened in the same moment and a coy smile appeared, "Are you afraid to touch me now?"

"No— _no_. Never… I just… I failed you… I… I should have… sooner—I should have come sooner," he began, and the guilt breached the flood gates. "I feared if I moved too soon they'd hurt you or the baby, but I was—I came… you were gone when I got there, and I… God, Catherine, I left you to them because I wasn't fast enough. I wasn't strong enough. I failed you."

He meant to go on, but a finger touched his lip, "There was nothing you could do. The _Castel_ is a formidable prison, and Cesare was watching me. Constantly. I tried to send a message even, and he waylaid me. He would not have let you near me."

"I would have killed him if he dared," Ezio hissed, but his wife only chuckled, the strange look coming over her once more. His chest, too, clenched again, and when he reached out this time he did so completely. He brushed her cheek with his fingers and then found hers on the sheets, grasping hold of them. "Catherine… what happened? Rodrigo said Cesare took you away…"

"After he was done with me, yes… after he took all I could give from the Apple, he was rid of me."

He frowned, brows scrunched, "He used you for the Apple?"

"Turned out I could still activate it. See things. He saw something he wanted, and then he felt he needed no more of me," she shrugged, as if it were nothing.

"Did he… those scars…" Ezio growled softly, fingers clenching.

She chuckled, of all things, and he felt his blood run cold, "It was Lucrezia. His bitch of a sister whipped me herself for her petty revenge for calling her out as the whore she is. She struck me until I bled and bled and bled… No doubt she sleeps soundly thinking I'm dead."

"That woman will pay—all the Borgia will pay for this," he hissed. He paused, though, meeting her gaze, which seemed so strange to him now. "But… where did he take you? You weren't at the _Castel_ when I came…"

"Ah… that bastard threw me to the wolves. A 'token' to the Followers," she laughed, and his inside twisted as his blood froze.

" _What_."

"A masked man who led them came; told him his little wolves could use fresh meat—a bit of spitfire for the men. He gave me to the man—let him take me to the _Colosseo_. I was too weak to fight then. They had me bound, anyways, but I would escape later. I knew I would. I could do it. As long as I got free of that fucking Cesare I could do it. I would get free and find him and gut him… and then they brought me to a door. They stripped me and threw me into the dark," she went on, and each word drove a knife deeper and deeper into his gut. He could barely move, barely breath. His mind screamed and raged and despaired at her words, his fears growing uncontrollable and more vile and horrid with each passing moment. He begged it not to be true, though—begged her silently not to let them be real. Her eyes were cold, though, some place far away as she spoke, so soft now, it was almost impossible to hear. "They were there. The Followers. They were waiting. They came for me, so I ran."

"Did you… Catherine—did…" he managed to utter and hated even considering it.

Her eyes had looked elsewhere, but when they flicked back to his, he didn't need her answer to know. His skin bristled, and his shame and fear and rage and sorrow increased infinitely.

"I fought them," she replied, her gaze going somewhere farther—beyond him; beyond the room; beyond everything.

 _Howls. Snarls. Laughter. Barks. Hoots._

 _They came upon her—there, in the dark. Her heart raced as she faced them in what little light she had. The flames flickered off the dead eyes of their hoods and the feral fangs in their mouth, grinning hungrily. They circled her, growling and panting like wild beasts. They were starving, though not for blood. For meat—a different kind of tender flesh, and she had no weapon. She was defenseless. They came closer, hands—claws—reaching, fangs gnashing._

 _She sensed movement from behind and struck, slamming her elbow into their nose. The man howled in pain, blood splattering onto her and the ground. She saw a glimmer of steel and lunged, ripping it free from his belt. The second grabbed her then, yanking her hair. She hissed as she dug the dagger's tip into his side, but he held fast. A third was on the way, so she flung the dagger up to his hand, but avoided the flesh, instead going for the red locks. The metal sliced through, cutting enough to loosen his hold and stab the metal through his elbow. He, too, howled in pain, and she faced the third. He tackled her, meaning to pin her hands as he grabbed one, but she shoved the dagger into his throat, which had been left exposed. He lurched, choking on blood that splashed down onto her, and then slumped to the side._

 _She scrambled up, eyes wide and heart going too fast. The fourth came, but he had a weapon drawn. She made to parry, and did so for the first flash, but there was another dagger. She couldn't dodge it as it sliced through her cheek, carving a line almost to her nose. It burned like hellfire, but it was nothing like the icy fear as she tried to shove her weapon into his throat, too._

 _Instead, a hand caught her wrist, and her face met the ground. The blow dazed her, made her drop her weapon, and then they had her. Pinned her. Grabbed her hair and twisted so it hurt, made the pain worse. She could see stars, but when she felt them grasp and pull more and she fought and twisted and thrashed._

 _But it was no use._

 _They snarled. And laughed. And howled._

Catherine's focus returned briefly, eyes meeting his. Ezio wanted so badly to embrace her, but he didn't dare. Already he knew, but he didn't want to believe it. He couldn't. Yet, her eyes said it all.

"I didn't get away."

 _Pain was foremost. There was pleasure, but mostly pain. It was matched by self-loathing and betrayal and a reverberating shame she believed and denied and hated. She could do nothing. They had her, and each moment, each thrust and laugh and snarl was worse than the last. She could only endure and hate and rage and despair and pray for an end—one that seemed to never come._

 _The pain continued._

"They left me there, once sated. They'd had their meat. Their fill. They'd come for more later, perhaps, so they left me," she went on, voice quiet once more.

 _She lay there for some time, though for how long she didn't know. It didn't matter. They had done their work, and they had gone, thinking her beaten. Broken. A thing to be used as they saw fit. But she was not broken. She was not beaten. No, there was a rage in her. Silent, bubbling, foaming at the mouth like a rabid beast. It clawed at her insides, begging to be released. It called upon memory to convince her—to show her the past days and months; the infinite hours of agony and despair and anger._

 _She saw Mario._

 _She saw the Villa._

 _She saw Paula._

 _She saw her son, in the hands of her enemy._

 _She saw the Borgia bitch, her whip flaying her flesh._

 _She saw Micheletto, his hands on her throat._

 _She saw Cesare, his vile mug laughing down at her._

 _She saw her husband, her daughter, her family—all her people dead, bodies lifeless on the floor._

 _She saw them staring at her with those hollowed, black eyes, their mouths agape._

 _She heard them wailing._

 _She heard them howling._

 _She heard them speak._

 _They demanded vengeance._

 _They demanded Retribution._

 _They demanded death._

 _She would grant it._

 _She would kill them. Every. Single. One._

 _They would die by her hands._

 _The walls broke, and her rage burst._

 _Her body, though once tired and weak, felt a vigor she had not known before. Her body, bruised and bloodied, pushed up, ignoring the aches. Shame was forgotten. Loathing was discarded. There was only hate and anger. Her gaze flicked to the dagger left behind, forgotten in their sated stupor. She took up her fang, and, recalling the way they had gone, a new kind of beast hunted._

Ezio couldn't fathom it. His rage knew no bounds. He wanted to hold her again, but he refrained. His hands shook too much to do so properly. And even then, he wondered if she would want him to.

He grit his teeth as he snarled, "I'll kill them. I'll rip them apart. I'll make them _suffer_."

"No need," she hummed, and when he looked to her in surprise, she smiled. "They're already dead."

 _She found them, reposed. They did not hear her coming._

 _She slit the throat of the first, drawing the sharp point quick and deep. The wolf died quickly. The others did not hear, content to sleep, their weak bodies tired from their efforts._

 _She thrust the dagger through the heart of the next, saw him jerk awake as steel met flesh, and reveled in the way his eyes bulged—the way terror engulfed them. He felt death for a moment, and then he perished. It didn't feel enough. She needed more. She needed suffering._

 _The third she pinned down, her hand clamped over his mouth as she drove the dagger into his groin. Blood pooled immediately as he bellowed in agony. His screams were only muffled, but it was enough. She saw his eyes rolling back, so she stuck him in the gut next and the pain pulled the man back. His screams continued, and she dragged the cool metal through his warm flesh, ripping through the tender meat. His death was slow and beautiful, and she relished in it._

 _The fourth—the one who'd cut her—had stirred from his slumber. He was the last of them, the others having gone elsewhere. It made him easier prey as he saw her, eyes going wide as he leapt up. He screamed something at her, but she didn't hear. There was only the dark whispers, calling for blood, and she answered. The man came for her, howling like an animal, but she was ready this time. As he had, she grabbed his wrist and shoved the dagger into his elbow, ripping through the muscle. It went slack and she took to the back of his knee next. Again, she ripped through the flesh, slicing the tendon. He fell, screeching in pain. He called her many things, but they were but pleasurable sweet nothings in her ears._

 _She cut his other leg in the same spot, rendering the limbs useless. She slammed the steel into the palm of his hand, all the way into the wooden construct behind him—enough so it stuck. His screams were like whimpers now, and he could do little as she took the dagger from his belt. She inhaled deeply, taking it all in._

 _He smelled of fear and blood and piss._

 _He was powerless now, bleeding out slowly. His eyes were wide with his fear—his regret. But it was not enough. She needed more and more and more._

 _Eyes unmoving, face impassive, she slipped the dagger's tip into his shirt, and began to cut._

"He begged me not to kill him. Begged me to let him go. Told me how sorry he was. Like him, I didn't listen. I let him wail. I let him bleed and scream and cry and piss and beg and beg and beg and beg… but I didn't let him go. No… no, I made an example of them. I made sure whoever would find them knew I had done this. That no ally of the Borgia would escape their up commence," Catherine spoke, her eyes wild—enough so Ezio found his breath stolen. Fear urged him to flee, but he held fast, torn between concern for her—and himself. It took all he had to repress a shiver as she smiled, moving her hand to the mattress where she began to write out letters with her finger. It was slow, methodical, and she watched her movements with a dark pleasure.

"I carved the letters into his chest."

 _He was barely awake as she drew the tip across the white skin, plastered with dribbles of red that trickled to the ground. He had stopped screaming some time ago, perhaps having choked on the blood from his tongue, half of which dangled on his lips. She still worked, though. She wasn't done yet, after all. She had to make sure they knew—that all these pathetic, worthless, scum that called themselves men knew there was a knew hunter in the midst. They would know they were no longer the beast in the night, but rather prey; weak and vulnerable._

 _B… O… R… G… I… A… D… O…. G._

 _There. It was done. She'd left her mark. Left the dog's corpse to rot there. She laughed then, or perhaps giggled. She marveled at her work, enjoying the sight of his gaping maw, eyes rolled back so only the white showed. His once pink flesh was dark red, and it was such a pretty color. It stood out so pleasantly against the white fur on his head._

 _Golden eyes stared back when she gazed upon the silent beast, and she could not help feeling a kinship. Yes—there, in those eyes she could see it. They were like her own. She could hear its whispers; the cries for vengeance; a life for a life and more. A wolf—a beautiful, powerful creature—wrongly brought down in its prime and made to sit upon the head of a mongrel. It needed a new bearer; one who was worthy of the strength; one who could hear and listen._

 _She grasped the scruff of the pelt, wrenching it off the cur, and let it fall upon her own. It was invigorating, the feeling of the rough skin and warm fur against her bare, marred skin. The whispers came louder, fueling her. She needed more._

 _She needed to hunt._

"I took their clothes, their daggers. I made them my own. They didn't need them anymore, and I escaped them. Left their bodies to rot—to feed the rats, perhaps. A fitting end for their filth," Catherine hummed, fingers lying still now. Ezio didn't dare imagine the ordeal the man had endured, even if he thought it was, as she said, a fitting end. Still, the ferocity of it was appalling—even for the crimes committed. He hated them, but this was something else. Something sinister. He forced himself to understand. They had _violated_ his wife. She had every right to kill them in any way she liked.

And yet, the woman before him felt so foreign now.

It was his wife, certainly, and yet it wasn't.

She chuckled, sitting up now and reaching over with the same hand. For all his worth, he nearly flinched, but she only smiled as she brushed a lock of hair from his eyes.

"Do I disgust you now, my love? After what those men did to me?" she hummed, and although her tone had not suggested anything, he couldn't help the flicker of shame. He sat up and set his hand on hers, pressing his face into her palm. He made sure to meet her gaze, however strange it seemed now.

"No. _Never_ ," he rumbled, and he was sincere in that. He could never be so petty. His gaze fell briefly, though, as he thought to change the course of things. "Why could I not find you after? I have traveled almost all of _Roma_ , and not seen sign of you…"

"Ah… yes… Because I did not remain in the light for long," she replied, head tilting slightly. "I found a doctor first—to tend to my wounds. I luckily had no fear of child, but I would do no good a bloodied mess… I hid for a time, nursing myself, and then I sought out Cesare and the rest of the Borgia's allies. I thought to take them on—get close and slit their throats, one by one… but I found myself at an impasse. The way to the _Vaticano_ was neigh impossible on my own, and though I yearned for their blood, I knew better than to throw myself onto their swords after all I had done to come this far. There was no way back—at the moment. I knew a chance would come, but I had to retreat. After all, it seems even one dressed _like_ the Followers are not welcome in the city—even by the guards they are allied to. Perhaps a show to the people, perhaps their own stupidity. Who knows.

She paused to draw her hand back, leaning up, elbow resting on her knee, "So I returned to the shadows. I needed to do _something_ to hurt them—to make them suffer, and if I could not touch the Borgia… then I would work slowly. I would cut off their fingers and toes first and work my way up, so I went back for the Followers. I began to hunt. I scoured their dens and lairs and learned of their plans, and for months I've hunted down there, in the dark. I would only surface briefly, working my way through them. I only lament I have not killed them all yet. Two more leaders and their Lairs evade me."

Ezio's heart trembled as much as his hand, torn between his shame and worry and sorrow. He had let this happen to her. He'd left her in their grasp; left her to be thrown to the wolves; left her to be hurt so deeply; left her to agony and despair. For all his fear of her gaze, he could not be stopped from moving to her. She turned towards him, and as soon as she did he pulled her into his arms. He buried his head into her neck and did his best not to let out a short sob. His wife had been hurt in ways he couldn't fully understand and could barely believe, and he only prayed that her return to him—to their family—could finally heal her.

"God, Catherine… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have gotten to you sooner… if I had… then you—none of this… I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_ ," he rasped, body trembling as his fingers clung at her shirt. He nearly flinched when he felt her fingers on his back, touching gently. It was more than he expected or could ask for, and dared to let his body relax, even if only a little.

"They have him—our son."

Ezio flinched, body once more going cold. He pulled back slowly, brows scrunched with confusion. Her eyes were as cold as he felt, though not out of any spite or hate for him. No, it was for someone else—for those that had done this to her.

"What?"

"Mario. I named him Mario. I gave birth to a boy, and they took him from me. They have him, Ezio. They have our boy."

"Wha—but… I… I thought… I thought he'd… I thought you were _both_ dead…" he spoke softly, mind working quickly. Had Rodrigo lied to him? No—no, the man had been true. He simply hadn't known. Her hand touched his cheek and his gaze met her intense one.

"The Borgia have lied about many things… and we must reclaim what they took from us. We must make them pay, Ezio. For everything."

He reached up, cupping her cheek, too, and pressed his brow to hers, "And we will, my love. We will. I swear to you—here and now… we will bring the Borgia down. _Roma_ will be free of their influence, and we will reclaim our son… our Mario. A fine name. Strong. He will become a strong Auditore. The Borgia will rue taking him. I swear it. I _swear_ it."

A smile appeared on Catherine's face, and it was both beautiful and terrifying. He could not look away as she leaned forward and placed a short kiss upon his lips. It was electrifying, and yet stung like a blow. He didn't know what to think of it as she pulled back, the smile still there, painted on her visage.

"I look forward to it."

No more was said as she lay back down, resting her head upon the pillow. She closed her eyes, and, for a moment, he was reminded of a life long ago—back at the _Villa_ where things were as they should be. But this was not _Monteriggioni_. This was not the warm bed they once knew. This was _Roma_ , a city still ruled by their enemy that had nearly destroyed him. He had his wife back now—a piece of his family restored, yet perhaps cracked still, and a new piece he had not known remaining to be found. A son. _His_ son. His Uncle's heir, in some way. They _would_ get him back. They had to. If not for the sake of his child, then his wife.

Silently, Ezio swore yet another oath. He would do all he could to mend his wife—to makeup for all the wrongs he had let come to her. He would not falter, not even once, until he could see her smile the way she used to.

With a quiet whisper of love into her ear, the Assassin finally settled down himself and allowed his guilt to crawl back into it's hole, allowing him sleep.

 **-O-**

The Auditore stirred in the night, woken by nothing in particular. He blinked, the moonlight gone from the window and perhaps almost to the horizon. He faced the doorway, having turned from his wife in the night. He rolled to the other side and had to pause, blinking again, and then frowned. Catherine was awake—sitting up even. She stared ahead, eyes focused on something in the dark. He could make out only his furniture, the tub, and their gear spread out upon things. She simply sat there, her knees brought up to let her arms wrap around them. She was still, almost serene in the dark.

"'Cat?" he called softly, reaching over to brush her side with his hand.

She didn't look at him as she replied, "Don't worry—just not used to a bed again. Go back to sleep."

He didn't want to. He wanted to press her further, but she was quiet again, and he sensed a change. It drove his words back and made him listen. He closed his eyes, still facing her, and willed himself to try and sleep again.

The redheaded woman remained awake, though, even as the dark of the night began to grow brighter. She stared into the dark—to the crown of white fur, adorned in golden gems that gleamed even in the lack of light. She stared, unblinking, and let the jaws pull her deeper and deeper into its empty throat. There, she heard it. The silent howls. The wailing, mournful screams. They echoed in a bellowing cacophony that threatened to render to her deaf.

It stopped suddenly, and the fading night was silent.

And then she heard the whispers.

* * *

 **13** – _End_

* * *

 ** _TMWolf:_** _So, like I said... this chapter was... intense. Truthfully, I originally had her escaping out okay when I first thought the sequel up, but... I ultimately decided it wasn't realistic. Sure, she's a trained killer and has trained for decades, but... there's only so much you can do in her situation and it just didn't feel realistic like I said. Also, it ended up working for what I wanted for their relationship problems in this Act, so... there it is._

 _I may be a sadistic bitch. I'm not sure._

 _Anyways. Enjoy the start of this f'd up mess. :L_


	14. Reunion

**TMWolf:** _Aaaaaaaaaaaand it's update time! Glad to know people enjoy when I torture my characters! Guess I should do it more lmao But, nah, that's probably the darkest chapter trigger-wise, but we're not done with the crazy yet. This is an easy chapter, though, so no worries. Lots of crying, though xD Kinda settling into a new schedule for my work and school, but still aiming for an update every other week!_

 _Right, so thank-you for all your reviews! I love seeing what y'all want to say X)_

 _So this chapter's song is from M83 - Reunion. Nothing to do with the actual chapter, but I like the song anyways haha_

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

 **14** – _Reunion_

* * *

 **January 31, 1501**

 **Rome, Italy**

Despite the winter slowly overcoming the city, Ezio woke to find his bed warm. It had not been that way for some time, and, briefly, he was perplexed by the fact. Memory quickly quashed any such feelings, and he opened his eyes to find the truth plain and clear: his wife, lying next to him. She was really there, and her eyes were closed, breaths slow and deep. She had finally fallen asleep at some point, though she still looked restless. Bags remained under her eyes and would perhaps for some time until she had recovered more. Though he could not see them besides the one of her cheek, he recalled the scars on her back. More memories flowed, and with them came the feelings, too. They had sown deep inside his soul, and now they had room to sprout and grow and gnarl their vines into his very being. Though she did not blame him—the Borgia were the true culprits—he took it upon himself to lay it on his shoulders anyways. He could not let her down again.

 _'And now, I have a son I cannot let down as well,'_ he mused silently, recalling his wife's words from the night before.

A son. She had named him Mario. It was a perfect name, and he knew it was what he would have chosen, too, after all that had happened. He was in his enemy's hands, though, which made things difficult. Possibly, that is. The Borgia wanted the child for themselves. They might not put his life at risk just to waylay them, but he could not hold onto that hope. They had to find some way to get their son back, and take their vengeance.

They needed to speak with Machiavelli and the others. Their allies needed to know Catherine was alive, too—especially Claudia and Maria. They had been hurt deeply by the loss, and perhaps the rift between them might be mended. He had been lax in trying to do so after he'd thought Catherine gone, and it had only grown worse when Giovanni officially joined Bartolomeo's ranks. He had done well, and was a prominent fighter, and it had been _his_ choice, but Claudia still disliked him for it; even blamed him a little. He should have fixed things a long time ago, but he had wallowed in his despair at his own loss and focused on _Roma_ instead.

Ezio smiled rather ruefully as he thought to himself, _'It seems I have a great deal to fix.'_

Catherine's breathing changed, and she let out a sigh. He watched her eyes open slowly, moving rapidly. Her expression was that of surprise, concern, and then her gaze found his. Her body, tense but a movement ago, relaxed some, though not fully. He was surprised at the sting he felt, but suppressed it when she smiled—sincerely, he noticed. This one was different than the others; more like before. More like _her_. He missed those smiles and vowed he would make them return in full.

"I almost forgot what it was like to wake up like this," she hummed, hand running across the bundled sheets.

"I missed waking up next to you," he replied softly, reaching over to entwine their fingers. The feel of her skin against his was indescribable in the way it made his heart flutter. He desired to hold her close, but it didn't seem right in this moment. Not yet. That, and he didn't miss the unmistakable sound of a door opening further down—a sign his daughter was up and about. He chuckled softly, "Diana is awake… you should see her now."

A light he had not seen before appeared in his wife's eyes and she sat up, pulling her hand free. She made to pull off the sheets, but then paused, looking to the gear she'd set down on the chairs and vanity.

She frowned, "I don't have… she shouldn't see what I wore before."

"We'll find you proper gear later… for now you can borrow mine. It… won't fit well, but it will be something. Diana won't mind," he grinned, slipping from the bed to rummage through his dresser. There he pulled out one of his black vests and then found a pair of shorter boots pushed under a desk. They were definitely not her size, but they would do for now. He slipped his own gear on right after, keeping an eye on her as he did so—she only sat on the bed, watching him, which was a relief in a way—and then held out his hand once he was done. He smiled when she took it, sharing the expression with him. "Come, she's waiting. She's always at the bottom of the stairs in the morning. I lift her up as soon as I'm down there, but today… well, I think she's in for a surprise."

"Do you… think she'll be cross with me—for having been gone so long? You said you told her I was on a mission, right?" she asked as they came to the door. He paused there, hand lingering on the knob, and turned to face her, making sure their eyes met.

"She could _never_ be angry with you. She… understands— _understood_. In her own way. She's just wanted you back as much as I have. Just… give a big hug, and even _if_ she was mad, she'd forgive you."

Catherine chuckled, "Okay. Let's go."

He opened the door for her and slipped out. He made sure to place the redhead directly behind him, obscuring her from view as he approached the staircase as the end of the hall. Sure enough, Diana was there at the bottom, waiting for him. She had her back turned, giving him the chance to start coming down. He grinned and stepped aside to allow for his wife to go by. She spared a look—he made sure to give her a nod of reassurance—and she went onwards. When she came halfway down their daughter turned, mouth open to shout "Papa", but the words stopped short and became a gasp. Her eyes, so wide the white showed, began to grow wet, and even before Catherine got three-fourths the way down, Diana sprinted up them.

" _Mama_!" she shouted, throwing herself up to her mother. Catherine leaned down to catch her, falling back against the step. The young girl buried her head into her mother's chest, sobbing at once as she clung to the fabric of her shirt. The redhead only paused for a moment, heart beating quickly, and then wrapped her arms around her, too. She pressed her cheek against the similar red locks, tied back in a ponytail like hers would be. Ezio came to sit beside them, wrapping an arm around his wife's shoulders. Diana continued to sob, crying out to her mother endlessly as her wish, at long last, came true. Her mother had come back.

"I'm here, my little one. I'm here. I'm back. I've got you," Catherine breathed, kissing her brow, and shutting her eyes. When she opened them again moments later, Ezio saw they were wet, though no tears fell. His wife held them in, but in their place was that same light before—the one that reminded him of the time before. A part of herself, returned. It made the night before almost seem a dream—no, a nightmare, but then the light faded some. Not entirely, but enough that her eyes dried, just as Diana finally pulled away. Her face was a mess, tears mixing with snot from her nose, but it hardly mattered. Their daughter was still beautiful and precious and everything to them.

"You—you're—r-really—b-back?" she hiccupped as Catherine wiped her face with her sleeve and cupped her cheek.

"Yes, I'm back. I won't leave you again, either."

"You got all the bad men?"

Catherine paused, almost a little too long—the light flickering—and then smiled, "Some of them, but not all. I still have some to deal with."

"But," Ezio quickly spoke up, worry flaring briefly, "she needs help to stop those men, so she's come back. Your Mama and I are going to work with the others to stop the rest of the bad men."

"So you'll stay? Like back home? You'll be here when I wake up?" the young girl pressed, looking right into her mother's eyes. The light briefly flared, and Catherine felt a warmth in her chest as she pressed her forehead to Diana's. It was odd, but so soothing to only hear her daughter's voice in that moment.

"Yes. I'll be here. I'll see you when you wake up every day. I promise."

"Good. Good!" the young girl bawled and her tears started anew. She pushed her head into her mother's breast once more, and Catherine was all too happy to keep her close. Ezio, too, was elated, and wrapped both his arms around them, too, his heart soaring.

Even if for a moment, things truly did feel like things before.

 **-O-**

"Watch your step," Ezio called softly, helping the redhead step down onto the worn, stone path of the underground tunnels. He held her hand in his, not wanting to be parted in the slightest, and kept a torch in his other, lighting the dark, cold tunnels. His wife looked on ahead, brow raised slightly. The light from before lingered there, for which he was grateful; he had feared forcing Diana to go off with her tutor while they left through the tunnel would have made it dim again, but it managed to hold fast. It made the weight on his shoulders lighter, but it would never fully lift until they had put an end to their enemies and reclaimed their son. Only then, he was sure, the light would come back.

"These must be useful—the tunnels. The Followers would use their own, too," she mused, fingers loose in his hand, but not pulling away.

"They make avoiding the Borgia guards easier. I've managed to connect them all across _Roma_ —some even to the countryside, although it's usually easier to simply go by horse by that point. Although, I'm relieved to find the guards are less… forward than before."

Her lip flicked upwards, "Been hard at work."

"I—yes, I have," he chuckled, though he felt a stab in his chest. "I did some before I went to get you—to make the escape safer… but after I thought you were gone I focused on helping the people and making the city safe for Diana, being _Roma_ has become home now. There's only a few locations where the Borgia's hold is strong—that, or the French's, though Bartolomeo has been dealing with them."

"Bartolomeo? He's here?"

"Yes, among many others. We're going to meet them soon… but first Claudia and Mother. They'll be almost as happy as Diana."

Catherine laughed lightly, "Hopefully they won't cry as much."

"They might. It…," he began, but paused to turn towards her. He squeezed her fingers, smiling gently. "It will be good for them—to have someone back. We lost Mario and Ottavio and Federico… and now Giovanni fights with Bartolomeo. It's been… difficult for them, too. Not just for Diana and I."

"Ah… then it will be good to see them. I missed them, too. I'm surprised they weren't at the hideout."

"Just be prepared: Claudia has… taken up a new profession. She still runs a business—just… not one I exactly approve of."

"…Are you two… _fighting_?" she smirked slightly.

He paused, blinking, and the looked away for a moment, abashed, "Er… Just… disagreeing."

"I see."

"Let's go," he coughed, glad for the darkness, which hid his flush. He did smile, though, his heart skipping at their conversation. He almost had forgotten such talks—such jovial banter. She always did it in such a way that no one else compared, and while often he could match it, there were times he was but a novice. It was those times he enjoyed—especially when she would laugh at his predicament. This was like those days, and he hoped for more of them. He _would_ make more of them happen.

"Who are our other allies besides Claudia and Bartolomeo? What of Machiavelli? You mentioned him earlier."

"He is on our side—as always. He's the one who's helped me to establish a foothold since the beginning. There is another… but I'll keep it a secret until we meet back at the hideout," he grinned, almost impishly, and was more than pleased to see her brow raised again. He chuckled, "I'll give you a hint: they're an old friend."

"Well, that's not too long of a list then," she quipped, earning a laugh from him.

"I missed your wit," he replied softly, squeezing her hand again. When he glanced back, he saw a sad smile on her face. He considered embracing her suddenly, but resisted in the end, and continued on. There would be time for that later. Besides, the trip to the _Rosa in Fiore_ would not be much longer—just a few more minutes.

Due to the more recent repairs, the change in location became apparent not far from the tunnel entrance. They'd passed by other openings, but he knew the ways by heart now—and he'd carved symbols and signs to use as well, just in case—and so had no trouble coming to the more polished stone steps. To his right was a rose symbol, his sign for the _Fiore_. In about two hundred feet they found the stairs and torch holders on both sides, one occupied, the other empty. He doused his torch, which wasn't needed anymore anyways; not with sunlight beaming through the tunnel entrance above. He could already hear the clamor of the courtyard in front of the brothel, but they were bound to go unnoticed anyways.

"It's a little busy. The place is very popular, you see. You ready?" he asked, turning back to face her. To his relief, she nodded. He nodded back, and they ascended.

The sunlight was always harsh at first after going through the dark tunnels, but the open sky was relieving, as were the warm rays shining down on them. His ears had not deceived him, either; there was a good crowd amassed in the courtyard of the _Rosa in Fiore_. Mostly it was men, some already drunk, but their courtesans were mixed in along with higher ranked nobles eager to throw their coin at them. There were some guards, but they kept further off to admire the women rather than pay little heed to the two Assassins that emerged from the tunnel, the entrance set opposite to their post. Otherwise it was the normal crowd, and Ezio saw no signs of danger. He kept an eye on his wife, though, noting her every glance and twitch of her mouth. She looked fine, her usual self, although her eyes were more focused.

He decided to be at ease with that, and so led her to the door. He knocked three times as he always did and entered. The aromatics hit him hard, but they were pleasant as opposed to odious and were endearing rather than repulsive. The artistry of the decoration and design was as splendid as before, although he noted Claudia had been altering things—in a good way, of course. Not that he would admit it to her, but he could not deny it. A quick glance found the woman in question, and she turned in a timely manner as she always did when he came. Her gaze was haughty, too, and her mouth opened with a smart remark—only to drop to the ground as Catherine waved with a small smile, stealing the words from her mouth. Her eyes went wide and her hand went to her chest, clutching at the fine fabric of her dress. Tears welled, but she kept her composure and quickly gestured to them both. She also stopped a passing courtesan, whispered into her ears, and then brought them to a back room. As soon as the door was closed behind them, she spun around and launched herself at the redhead.

" _Catherine!_ " she wailed, letting the tears flow freely. The redhead pat her sister-in-law's head gently, the other arm wrapped around her, letting her sob as much as she liked. Ezio watched on, glad to have given his sister this small comfort after all they'd endured. He felt it for his mother, too, whom slipped into the room quickly, but then paused with a gasp, hand at her mouth, when she saw his wife. She looked to Ezio and a trembling smile came onto her face as she grasped his hands. He returned the hold, nodding, and then his mother came to embrace Catherine, too. Claudia let her in, rubbing at her eyes, and used the moment to hug her brother. Despite their quarrels, this was a special moment, and so they managed to chuckle at one another as Maria cupped Catherine's face gently, just looking at her. The older woman's face faltered for but a moment, but then it was filled with joy once more.

"Oh, my sweet Catherine… you are really alive. I had almost lost hope," the matriarch sighed softly and embraced the woman again, kissing her brow as they parted. "Are you alright? Where have you been? How did you come by this scar?"

"Ah—Mother," Ezio spoke up, quickly coming over to wave away her questions. He glanced to his wife, but was relieved to see no odd changes. She still had her sad smile on, but there was an affection to her eyes. Maria looked far less at ease, but seemed to understand as he went on, "Much has happened, but… She's back, and that's what matters most."

"Yes, it is," Claudia nodded, seeming to understand as she took hold of Catherine's hand. "It is worthy of celebration even!"

"Please don't," Catherine chuckled. "I don't need that much excitement. Besides—there's still a lot to be done."

"Oh, my dear, come now. Surely you can rest—you must be exhausted," Maria huffed slightly, having noticed the bags that lingered under her daughter-in-law's eyes.

Ezio sighed, folding his arms across his chest, "It's just…"

"They have our son."

Claudia and Maria looked sharply to Catherine, whose gaze had darkened. Her hand had left the younger Auditore's, now clenched at her side. The two women looked to Ezio, whom nodded.

"Catherine gave birth while their prisoner, and they took the child—our son. We have to get him back."

"My God… to take your _child_!" Claudia gasped, shaking her head. She frowned, "But what can we do?"

"We need to summon the others before we talk of such things—the _Fiore_ is not the place, and we will need the others' wisdom. I am glad you came to see us first, though," Maria replied, touching her son's shoulder. She looked to Catherine next. "Does he have a name?"

"Mario."

"Ah… A good name. It's fitting," she smiled back, though her gaze fell briefly. She refocused in a moment, "Have the others been summoned to the _Isola_?"

"I had pigeons sent before we came—they should be there soon, I hope," Ezio nodded.

"We should head back then," Catherine spoke up, a hint of anxiousness in her voice—or was it eagerness? Her husband understood, though. He was itching to get moving, to work on getting their child back, and finally bring an end to the Borgia. He only lamented it would not be as easy as they'd like.

"Claudia, Catherine, you go on ahead. I need Ezio's help with a matter. It will only take a few moments, but since he is already here I would have him do it now rather than have him return later," Maria smiled, touching her son's arm as she nodded to her child and daughter-in-law. Catherine turned and headed back out without hesitation, but her daughter paused, glancing between them. Unspoken words flew, and the Assassin felt his gut twist slightly. His sister left then, leaving mother and son to gaze upon one another, so much unsaid but needing to be said yet not sure if they could.

Somehow, Maria managed to let out a deep, mournful sigh, which she half-covered with her hand. She shook her head, glancing towards where the two other women had gone, and then back to her son.

"Ezio… she… what happened? Her face and her hair, and… Ezio, her eyes… she seems so… something is _wrong_."

"I _know_ … She… she was hurt badly… terribly… I… she… she's hurt so deeply, Mother… and I fear… I'm so afraid she…" he replied, squeezing Maria's hand tightly as his head dropped. Her other hand cupped his cheek, bringing his eyes up, but it was hard with his heart so heavy in his chest.

"Do not lose hope. I am just… it pains me to see her so. She looks even worse than I when your father and brother were taken, and it worries me more," she spoke softly, but then her gaze grew hard. "The Borgia will pay for what they have done to us."

"They will. I have sworn it to her. I failed to protect her, but we can still protect our son—and avenge her. I… I just… the things she told me, Mother… What kind of husband am I?" he croaked, eyes wetting. "She was _alive_. This whole time—and I _stopped looking_. I didn't try hard enough. She won't blame me, but I let her down. _I_ failed her. I didn't save her. I—I—."

"Ezio, shh, no. No, no, no, do not do that to yourself," his mother urged, pulling her other hand from his so both held his face. They moved to wrap around his neck as he embraced her, burying his head into her neck. She stroked his hair gently, letting him inhale deeply. "You did not do this to her. Our enemies did, and you cannot forget that. Do you not let your heart weigh heavy with that burden… but she needs you to help her now. She needs you to help her recover herself. Reclaim your boy and be rid of this blight upon the city—and our family. Bring peace to us—and to Catherine. _That_ must your burden, but not the past. And never let your love for her falter. That, above else, is what she needs in this dark hour."

"… Okay. I… I will, Mother. I will," he spoke, murmuring into her dress, but his heart only felt heavier. He pulled away, though, his eyes visibly wet now, but he kept the tears back. She stepped away but found his hand to give it a quick squeeze again.

"Things will be alright. She will return to you—to us. I know it," she smiled, and he wished he could feel the same. "Now, go on; head back to the _Isola_ and speak with the others."

Ezio only nodded numbly before he departed.

 **-O-**

"Ah! I can't believe it! It really is you, my Lady!"

Catherine barely had time to grin as Bartolomeo lifted her up in a fierce bear hug, laughing merrily as he spun once and set her down. He kept his hands on her shoulders, grinning like a fool, but then frowned and hummed thoughtfully.

"You have a new scar now, I see—it looks good on you! Befitting a fine warrior!" he bellowed, clapping her arm.

"It's good to see you again, my boar of a friend. I didn't expect you here in _Roma_ , but I am glad your sword is at our side," she replied back, smirking slightly as she slapped his arm. "Luckily for me, my husband seems to like my new scar, too."

The man winked, "Of course! But if he didn't, I would gladly knock some sense into him!"

"Luckily, that will _not_ be necessary," Ezio chuckled as he walked up beside his wife. To his left was his sister, and across from them stood _La Volpe_ and Machiavelli. The two men were just as pleased as the mercenary commander at Catherine's return, but certainly more shocked—and showing glimmers of worry, which they hid well. _La Volpe_ used a smirk to shield his concerns as he came forth, bowing politely, and placing a playful kiss on her gloved knuckles.

"My heart is delighted at your return, my dear. Your charm and wit have been greatly missed," he purred, a mischievous twinkly in his eye.

Catherine laughed, "The same to you, my dear fox. _You_ I am definitely surprised to see. Finally bored of _Firenze_?"

"Hardly, but even a fox must fight to protect his den, no? I could not simply sit by and ignore the wrath of the Borgia, so I brought my thieves here with me, and we are happy to serve the Assassins again. The fox may not be as ferocious as the wolf… but we can bite just as hard when we wish to. You can count on us to know the Borgia's every move—any secret of theirs will be yours."

"Good, because we're going to need your spies now more than ever. We'll need all of your help," the redhead responded, glancing over at her husband, whom did the same.

"As we all know, Cesare Borgia _still_ has the Apple… but now Catherine has told me they also have our son," Ezio spoke up, and the three men looked sharply to him.

"The child lives, too?" Machiavelli half-gasped, eyes widened briefly. The redhead nodded when he looked to her, and, for a moment, there was hesitance in his gaze, but he continued on, "Then it is even more imperative we deal with the Borgia as soon as possible. I am reluctant to ask, and I do not expect you to answer… but what happened during your imprisonment? Anything to shed light upon his plans? We… _assumed_ he used your attunement to the Pieces of Eden to extract information from the Apple…"

The redhead waved off his concern, "It's fine. And you're right. Before I gave birth he didn't visit me much beyond threats and convincing me all my allies were gone. Once our son was born he moved me to the prison where he had me touch the Apple. I don't remember much, but of what I _do_ remember... A lot was mostly fleeting images and the burning sensation… but he became especially focused on a battle. He was speaking… saying how apparently no man could kill him. He became obsessed over it. Said how he would rule everything now. The things it showed… he looked like he would continue his conquest for a long while. With powerful weapons, too."

"Wait, the _Apple_ showed you these visions—of the future?" the nobleman frowned.

"I think so. It showed me things from the past, too."

"So… what? Cesare is going to win?" Claudia guffawed, a sentiment felt throughout.

"I'm not sure, but the future isn't set in stone. _I_ can attest to that. It was only a fragment of a whole, anyways. He could very well have died in the next moment," Catherine growled slightly, fingers tightening into a fist.

"Whatever the case, we will do all we can to defy him. Even if it is inevitable, we must fight them. We must reclaim our son and do all we can to free the people of _Roma_. _That_ is our duty as Assassins, and we will fight even if it costs our life."

"A good speech, but do you have a plan?" Bartolomeo quipped.

La Volpe stepped forward, "You won't reach him on the battlefield, that is for certain, and if he is back here, in _Roma_ … he will be in the _Castel_ —"

"— _which_ , is now under double guard ever since you tried to rescue Catherine. You will not be able to get in the same way you did before," Machiavelli interrupted, glancing between them. "We need a new way in, and even then, it might not be enough.

He paused to raise a hand to keep others from speaking, "You have done well to free the city from Captains and some influence, but it will always return at some point. We must do more to ensure the people can _continue_ to be free."

"Even if we keep Captains at bay, so long as Cesare and his allies live, there will be no peace," the mercenary leader rumbled, rubbing his jaw.

"His death will come," Catherine spoke, her voice low and nearly a growl.

"And what of after?" Machiavelli inquired back. "His death will only leave room for another to take his place and subdue _Roma_ again."

Ezio frowned slightly, "You're right… but it isn't anything we haven't done before. We must ensure good men—those who work for the people—gain positions of power… and we must increase our own influence again. The Assassins may have been dealt a heavy blow, but we are very much so alive, and we can rebuild to what we were. Become _more_ than we were here."

"And you have a means to do so?" the nobleman replied, but his lip was quirked upwards slightly, in a knowing manner.

The Assassin chuckled, "Not yet, but I'll think of something. But first, there is much for us to discover still."

"Like whether Cesare is even here in the city or not—and how to get into his fortress. And if he's _not_ here, we need to find a way to lure him back in," the redhead spoke up.

"If he's on the battlefield, my scouts will find him. We'll be sure to send his every movement to you," Bartolomeo nodded.

La Volpe rubbed his chin, humming softly, "My spies will do their own scouting of the _Vaticano_ district… see if we cannot find a secret entrance or a loose link."

"And my girls can glean secrets from the nobles that court the Borgia and fund their exploits. I am sure we can find a way to strike our enemy there," Claudia added, a fierceness to her eyes.

"And my supplies and resources are at your disposal. I will do what I can in the courts to keep prying eyes away, but what do you two plan to do—especially now you we have another Blade to use against the Borgia?" Machiavelli chimed, motioning to the two Assassins.

"Though a great deal has been done so far, there's still much more we can do. The Borgia try to reclaim districts every day, and the countryside is still not entirely free," Ezio frowned, arms folding.

"Ah, yes, the Followers still elude us, and the French remain strong."

Bartolomeo huffed slightly, "I'm working on it."

"The Followers are only a matter of time. I've been hunting them down since Cesare removed me from the _Castel_. If you've heard of _la Lupa_ , then you've heard of my work," Catherine added, earning quite a few sharp looks. "I know where all their Dens are, and I've cleared at least one completely. Their leaders elude me, though—the ones pulling the strings. They're not the usual scum that make them up—the lowlifes. Brigands. Murderers. Rapists. The ones giving the orders are of a higher breed. Perhaps even nobles. I haven't obtained their identities."

"Well, if they are nobles, that should be easy enough for my spies to find out," La Volpe hummed.

Catherine looked to him, eyes darkening, "Good. I want their names as soon as you have them."

"Ah… of course," the thief replied, a strange look about him for a moment.

"We will need more than their leaders to keep _Roma_ free, though," Machiavelli mused, looking to the two again.

Ezio rubbed his chin, "I am… still thinking on it—we will need time to consider what is best. But that will give us all time to gather what information we need to bring the Borgia down."

"In the meantime… should we not celebrate the return of our lovely comrade?" the mercenary grinned almost impishly, motioning to the redhead, whom smiled.

"As humbled as I am by your offer… returning to Ezio and Diana was enough celebration for me. We can host a real part once the Borgia are gone… speaking of Diana… thank-you, Machiavelli," Catherine told the nobleman, bowing her head. "Ezio told me you took care of her in our stead for some time… we owe you a debt."

"It has well been paid in full, and she was a delight. Your boy was equally delightful to host, Claudia," he replied, nodding to the younger Auditore. "Should she need a safe place away from here, Diana is always welcome… and should you need anything yourself, my Lady… you only need ask."

"Are you sure you do not at least wish for a toast? It is practically a miracle you have returned to us. We had feared the worst all this time," the mercenary rumbled, folding his arms almost like a dejected child.

"And for that I am sorry—I thought you all were gone as well, and because of that I worked alone. I would have come much sooner, but things… did not go that way it seems," she replied, her gaze falling briefly. Ezio saw her face flicker—a bit of that darkness he'd seen showing itself. She was thinking of what she'd told him the night before. The horrors. His guilt gnawed at him again, although he pushed it back this time. His wife needed him to be stronger than this.

"Whatever the case, what matters most now is that you are back with us again, and we will be all the stronger for it," Claudia beamed, coming over to grasp Catherine's hand tightly. She turned her gaze to the others. "And now it is time we do our part in this war. Cesare Borgia will rue the day he struck the Assassins."

"Hear! Hear!"

La Volpe smirked, "Well said."

"Indeed, he will. Once we have any information, we will be sure to pass it along. And when you have your solution, I would certainly like to know," Machiavelli grinned slightly, and that was all that remained. All three men departed, leaving the Auditore alone in the main hall of the hideout. Claudia was the first to speak, sighing softly as her shoulders slumped, but then straightened and regarded her sister-in-law for a long while.

She hummed thoughtfully, "Before _I_ go… how about I do you a service today and tidy up your hair?"

"Hmm?" Catherine mused, brows scrunching slightly. Her eyes widened with realization and she laughed as she touched at her uneven locks. "Ah. Yes. Turns out I'm not very good at it myself. I could use a more professional touch."

"Luckily, I have had a good deal of practice thanks to my girls. They all need their locks done every day, and I have become quite good at it. Sadly, I do not think you will be able to tie it back in a ribbon for some time… but we can at least make it look lovely until then," the younger woman smiled, reaching up to touch at one of the red strands.

The redhead chuckled, "It was a necessary sacrifice, but I'll be glad to have it look better. I'm sure Ezio would, too."

" _I_ never said that," he huffed, bottom lip pushed out slightly. "I love your hair however it is."

"I am sure. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to make something out of these uneven strands. You should work on thinking up a plan. You _are_ the one in charge. Unfortunately," she sniffed, turning her head up, although Ezio couldn't help but note it didn't sound as harsh as before. His wife, too, seemed to relax a little as Claudia led her off, but the worry remained, and it would always be there until this war was done.

Once the women were out of sight, Ezio sighed—deeply. Had he a chair nearby he might have sunk into it. Things weren't as he wanted them, and he felt more lost than anything else, but he just had to wait for information from his allies. With their help, he could save his wife from what darkness threatened to claim her, and with whatever solution he could devise to ensure the city stayed free, he would keep his family safe, too.

Now, all he needed was a plan.

* * *

 **14** – _End_

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 ** _TMWolf:_** _Right, so. Warning signs all around, let's see where it goes :'D_

 _Also, probably most tears this chapter. Yay for tearful reunions! Also, totally getting things underway. AND. Shit is gonna deviate from the game to suit my story needs. You'll get my meaning next chapter, I think, and I'll explain more then. For now... until next update! R &R and let me know your thoughts! :)_


	15. You're Not Alone

**TMWolf:** _Okay! Time for a new chapter! Updates were more on time, but school is popping up again, so not sure what the schedule will be, but I'll try to keep to it! Anyways... right, so. It's time to get the ball rolling, and you're going to notice something is... different this time around. Timeline-wise, from the game anyways ;) It just... worked out better for what I wanted. Also because UBISOFT MAKES IT SEEM LIKE EVERYTHING HAPPENS IN LIKE A MONTH BUT NO IT'S BEEN YEARS LIKE STOP._

 _So. Yeah. Enjoy :D_

 _Oh, and thank-you for your reviews, everyone! It does my heart so good y'all are enjoying the pain and torture X)_

 _Now, this chapter's song is actually from the Assassin's Creed movie! :)_

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 **15** – _You're Not Alone_

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 **January 31, 1501**

 **Rome, Italy**

Claudia hummed as she combed her fingers through Catherine's hair, teasing out what knots she could find. It wasn't too bad, but some lingered in the deeper locks. The color had darkened some, and she'd found a mat hidden amongst the strands, but it came out easily enough. Her sister was calm throughout it all, sitting still in the chair in the spare room they'd found, set before a vanity. She stared at nothing in particular in the mirror' reflection. The younger Auditore, however, couldn't help glancing at her, noting the blankness of her stare. It was unnerving, but she kept her questions at bay—for now—and began to brush her sister's uneven hair.

"What on Earth did you do to it?" Claudia chuckled, doing her best to try and even out the mismatched lengths. "You lost so much of it… your hair was always so pretty."

Catherine chuckled softly, "It was a necessary sacrifice… it just so happens I'm not very good at cutting it."

"Indeed," she scoffed playfully and took up the scissors she always kept on hand—just in case of emergencies with her girls. "Now… I cannot guarantee it will not be even shorter after I get it all even, and you will not be able to wear that ponytail for some time… but it will look far better than before. It will be so strange to see you with your hair loose and to your shoulders, though…"

"It'll grow, so do your worst," the redhead chuckled, and let the younger work. Her fingers continued to thread the hair while utilizing a brush to keep the strands steady as she snipped here and there, doing her best to make it work. The much shorter length made it easier, but it was more than enough time for countless questions to fill her mind—ones she had to bite her tongue to keep back. Her worry gnawed at her, though, and as she cut the last wayward bit of hair and went about fiddling with her work she found she couldn't keep it back.

"Catherine," Claudia began, eyes falling as she brushed a freshly cut bang back. "What… what happened?"

She saw how the woman's eyes darkened, her gaze going somewhere else—somewhere far, far away. The air around them felt cold, and she briefly wondered if she had made a mistake. But then the moment was gone; Catherine's eyes regained some light and the air became crestfallen rather than malevolent.

"Nothing you should hear," she replied, her voice quiet. Before Claudia could press, the redhead stood and turned to face her, a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Thank-you, Claudia. I feel more like myself already."

Catherine left the young woman there, heading back out into the main hallway. The younger Auditore bit her lip, fingers clenching so tight her knuckles turned white and her arms shook slightly. Her heart hammered in her chest and there were so many things she wanted to say, but they died on her tongue. She sucked in a shaky breathe of air instead. She forced her hands to release and return her scissors to her dress before she finally followed after, the unspoken words weighing like a boulder upon her shoulders. They grew even heavier as she spotted the redhead standing with her husband, Diana up in his arms. They were laughing and smiling, and yet, still, the light did not reach Catherine's eyes. Her daughter was unaware, and for that Claudia was grateful, but when she looked to her brother, she saw: the knowing. The realization. The heartbreak.

Claudia barely managed to spare Ezio a sad smile—one which he shared—before she could bear no more. She turned away, and, shaking her head in a futile attempt to be rid of the tightness in her chest, she made for the underground entrance to the tunnels and left.

 **-O-**

"The city looks pretty from up here," Catherine hummed, gaze focusing on the vast landscape full of rooftops that mingled amongst the ancient ruins of the old _Roma_. The sky was clear today, giving way to the warm sunshine that illuminated the spot they sat upon. She leaned back against her husband, his chest serving as a pillow while his arms wrapped around not only her waist, but their daughter, whom was fast asleep in her mother's lap. His head leaned back against a wall of their hideout, admiring the city as well. More-so, though, he reveled in the feeling of his wife against him, and the silent, slow breaths of their child, dreaming peacefully.

"It is—and down below, if you get beneath the dirt. It's much better than it was, though. Before, I could barely walk the streets without worry—especially once they put a bounty out for me," he chuckled, and grinned impishly when the redhead glanced back at him.

"I really shouldn't be surprised," she hummed as she brushed one of Diana's loose locks back. "How long did it take to do all this?"

Ezio waited a moment, worried at the underlying meaning, but then replied, "Too long… Even after I tried to rescue you, I've still had to keep working to stop the Borgia from taking it back… but brining the others—Claudia, La Volpe, and Bartolomeo… it took a month, maybe two. Machiavelli has made it much easier, but it's not been a simple task, either."

"Harder than _Venezia_?"

"Mm… in some ways. _Venezia_ , for all it's grandeur, was not as vast as _Roma_. The countryside is difficult to tame, and the people… while they are relieved to not feel the pressure of the Borgia as badly as before, they're not so easy move—to rebel."

"It's hard, when you're a prisoner," Catherine hummed, eyes roving the rooftops again. "They're weighing the risks. Better to remain compliant than to risk their life and those all they love."

"We need to convince them otherwise—prove to them the risk _is_ worth it," Ezio rumbled, tightening his grip some as he leaned forward so he could rest his chin on her head. "Perhaps I just haven't gotten rid of enough Borgia."

"Even if you got rid of them all, the people would still be compliant. They need to be _moved_. To fight back."

"It is hard when the majority of the city is barely scraping by. All the rich remain mostly in the _Vaticano_."

"Have you been restoring things?" the redhead mused. When he did not reply, she went on, " _Monteriggioni_ was weak when we first arrived… and though it fell to the Borgia, it withstood far more and grew rich and powerful because we rebuilt it. We put time and effort into it… _Roma_ needs the same."

"Hmm… that is a good start. I've accumulated good funds… I could see about investing in more shops—perhaps even help rebuild special monuments. Lift the peoples' spirits. Let them know they have an ally," he hummed thoughtfully.

She shifted to look back at him more, "Exactly. Give the people hope—a leader to lead them in their rebellion. They need someone else to start the fire for them—to spark their courage. Then the Borgia will learn what happens when you beat down a dog too many times."

Ezio watched her closely, his tongue tied behind his lips. It was difficult to swallow, seeing the intensity in her eyes; how they looked far beyond him. It was that darkness that irked him, yet spurred him to fight harder, too. It was the darkness he hoped to vanquish, and prayed this was the right course.

"It will take more than just the people rioting… they're not strong enough," he replied at last, sighing softly.

"True," his wife huffed slightly. "They're not soldiers."

He went on, "But perhaps they can be more"

"You have something in mind?"

"It's… an idea," Ezio grinned, and the redheaded woman turned back just enough so she could shoot a raised brow his way. "We will need to call on Machiavelli for his wisdom, but… well, for lack of better word: we're going to build an army—of a special kind."

Catherine's brows scrunched together as she thought, taking special note of her husband's smile. He laughed lightly as the answer alluded her, and so he reached behind his head to pull his hood over his head. It took another moment before she understood, and she balked a little.

"You mean like _us_?"

"Yes. Cesare has his guards, but we… we will have our own flock. An army of Assassins."

"Now _that_ , my dear husband, is a good idea," she smirked, and he laughed lightly.

All the while, little Diana slept peacefully.

 **-O-**

 **February 4, 1501**

 **Rome, Italy**

" _That_ is your idea?" Machiavelli scoffed, brow arched slightly, and hand rolling in a gesture. Ezio chuckled, sharing a short glance with his wife, and held up a hand for peace.

"I imagine it must sound strange, but… even with my wife returned, we are only two Assassin blades against countless Borgia swords. I have managed to erode the Borgia influence well enough, but now we need to bolster _ours_."

"And you propose to build an army of individuals like yourself. You honestly think the _people_ are up to such a task?"

"The spark is already there, Machiavelli," Catherine replied, meeting the man's gaze. "The Borgia have taken everything from them. Beaten them down, hoping to smother them out… instead they make the people hate them more. All they need is a means to strike—to bite back at those that that take their freedom from them."

"And you will give it to them?"

"Yes—in a way."

"You can't possibly expect to arm the entire populace against the Borgia."

"No, not all of them," Ezio chuckled, and then motioned to himself and his wife. "Just the two of us alone have made great changes in _Italia_. _Two_ Assassins. Now imagine if we had three? Or four? Or even five?"

Catherine grinned, "We don't need a _full_ armada of soldiers. We need a small squad of Assassins like ourselves that can do our work, tenfold."

"It is not a bad idea… and I suppose you will train them? But then what of your work? You will put it on hold?" the man pressed, and while it was a little irksome to be questioned so much, they knew their ally meant well. He was to give them council. It was only natural he help them see any flaws in their plans—in this case by prodding at them.

"Ezio will continue his work—he knows the actual city far better than I—and obtain new recruits while pushing back the Borgia," the redhead responded. " _I_ , however, will train them. I worked more closely with Mario and Ottavio than he did, and I also trained new recruits at times. Perhaps just to remind them to never underestimate the enemy, but I can do it."

"If you are sure," the man hummed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully now. "I admit, while I am… reluctant to agree, the idea has promise—but you have given me only words."

Ezio chuckled, "Don't worry, Machiavelli. You will see action soon enough."

"Then what else would you have of me? I presume you did not come solely for council."

"We would like the new recruits to stay here if they're able—within the hideout, or at least on the island or around it, depending on how many we obtain. I don't imagine we'll run out of room, but…"

"We need the provisions to arm them—ensure they have gear befitting Assassins. And we need to alter one of the basement rooms into a training ground still. It will serve for sparring at the moment, but we need more training weapons and dummies and targets. Bartolomeo might be able to help with that, though," Catherine added, hands on her hips as she walked back and forth.

"I can converse with him and see to the tailors and smithy. In the meantime, you two have work to do. Assassins to recruit… and Templar agents to remove—if only to help strike a blow to the Borgia," the man mused, a smirk daring to appear on his visage. The two Assassins exchanged glances as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a parchment. "It is only names, but I do not doubt that will be more than enough. They are not, I am afraid, a part of Cesare's inner circle, but they will hurt his assets."

"That's more than enough," the redhead breathed, practically snatching the paper away and opening it up. The names meant barely anything to her, but she memorized them all the same and then handed the parchment to her husband.

"Mm… I believe I've heard of some of these. It shouldn't be hard to find a trail," the Auditore grinned, stuffing the paper into his vest. "What more would you have of us then?"

"Only keep your word… and continue your fight for the people. Do not stop until you have seen this through, and when the time comes… promise me you will kill them. Cesare. Rodrigo. Do not spare them again."

Catherine's gaze grew cold, her voice low, " _That_ you can be sure."

"Then I give you my blessing. Now, go; recruit our new novices."

Ezio pat the pocket that held the paper, "And perhaps take out a Templar in the process. Catherine?"

The young man held out his hand for the redhead, whom flashed him a quick smirk before taking it. Light flickered in his dark eyes, and giving himself a moment to squeeze her fingers gently, he nodded to Machiavelli, and the two Assassins ventured out into the daylight.

 **-O-**

 _Isola Tiberina_ was bustling with life, people going about their day, be it the tailor or smithy or painters or just the everyday common man. They littered the streets, some rushing to and from places, while others had no care in the world. They went about their day unawares, all the while watched by the two hooded figures whom waltzed through them. They stood out, and yet blended in, and no one spared them a second glance. They were just another pair making their way about _Roma_ —and no doubt keeping their head low in the event any Borgia guards decided to look their way. Despite the work of the Assassin, their presence always remained, however weakened it was. Indeed, contingents roamed the streets still, and pockets of swordsmen could be found in certain corners. Ever watchful, the Borgia dogs.

"Any signs of one of the targets?" Catherine inquired, eyes roving the streets.

"Not yet. Supposedly it's a man working for one of the thieves gangs the Borgia use against the people," he rumbled back, glancing up to the rooftops. Machiavelli's tip on the agent had said he'd been causing trouble up top in the poorer district, but so far there hadn't been much sighting of such a person.

"The _Cento Occhi_. I know them. They're like the Followers. I was never able to learn who led them, but looks like we can now make some headway."

"It'd be nice—they've been a pain in my ass ever since coming here. They're the ones that killed Madame Solari. Er—the woman who ran the _Rosa_ before Claudia."

His wife raised a brow while her lip curved up in a slight smirk, "I see you're touchy about that. Seems to me she's doing well."

"She shouldn't run a _brothel_ ," he huffed.

"It's a business… and as I recall, you had a hand in the brothel back home," she hummed, and Ezio couldn't help pausing. A grin replaced his confusion as did delight, elated to see her give him such a quip—a small remnant of her old self.

" _That_ was different… but I can't deny she _is_ doing well… too well… Still, I worry. She's my baby sister…"

Catherine snorted, "Who's raised not only two boys, but managed an entire city. A brothel is nothing compared to home."

"Can't you take my side even a _little_?" he pouted, teasing her fingers with his own. She promptly pulled them away, waggling her finger.

"Not when you're being immature about it. What would the new recruits think?"

"That I'm an _excellent_ big brother," he grumbled, puffing out his cheeks some. He waved off her snort with a chuckle. "I'm kidding… and I am _trying_ to be better…"

"At not being so stubborn, I hope."

"…Trying. Can you give me _one_ compliment?" he chuckled, and this time when he touched at her fingers she let him grab hold. Her eyes met his, and a small, sincere smile showed on her face. Even marred by a scar, he found the sight breathtaking.

"You're a good man—even after all these years."

"Thanks to you," he replied at once, hoping she could see the love he felt for her. Her smile went just a little bit wider, making his heart swell in his chest. It faltered, though, as her gaze flickered upwards and then her head turned the same way. He followed in suit and saw it—a woman, on the roofs. She was not dressed like a thief, though, and her movements were odd; unsure. Unsteady. She was drawing close to the edge of the roof on the other side, though.

"She's going to jump?" he breathed, already moving.

"No—look, she's stopped," Catherine pointed, just as the woman stood up on the edge, but went no further. Ezio paused, looking to his wife. "Didn't Machiavelli's notes say the target was on the roofs?"

"Think it's related?" he mused, brow raised, but she only shrugged. "Well, only one way to find out."

It was easy enough to avoid the Borgia's eyes as they found a way up, the poorer district providing many broken-down buildings with even more footholds to grab and clamor up. The woman wasn't on the tallest of buildings, but if she jumped from where she was, she could most likely die. Yet, she hadn't moved even by the time the two Assassins made it to the rooftop and approached carefully, Ezio taking the lead.

"Careful," he called out, spooking her a little, but not enough to stumble. She turned her head towards them, but did not jump—a hopeful sign. "I have fallen from my share of rooftops."

Her gaze fell, "I am waiting for my Lanz."

"On the rooftops?" Catherine inquired, moving on the woman's left.

"He left me after our baby died," she sighed, and then her voice grew harsh, but full of hurt, too, "Joined up with the Cento Occhi gang. They say that he kills now… pushes men from buildings! I tell them I don't believe it…"

"But you do…" Ezio replied, coming beside her now.

She sighed again, "I do."

"What will you say to him if he comes?" the Assassin asked.

"I will jump," she snapped at once.

Catherine frowned, "He is the one who should pay—not you."

"My death will remind him of the man he once was," she spoke, solemnly now.

"If your death is all that will remind him, then he's a man too far gone," the redhead rumbled, earning a sharp look for the woman, but she bit her lip instead of replying. Her eyes said it all, and even she knew it was true.

"Madonna… he doesn't deserve your sacrifice. Where is Lanz?"

"Up here… somewhere," she sighed, waving around to the rooftops.

"He will trouble you no more, Madonna," Ezio spoke softly, glancing to Catherine before looking out to the rooftops. His eyes fell upon a high spot and spared another look to his wife before making for it. The redhead lingered, eyes on the woman, whom had yet to move just yet. Her mind ran through all kinds of thoughts, watching Lanz's wife there. It was hard to place them all, but it was ones she hadn't felt for a while. They weren't as loud as the others, but they made themselves known now.

"Don't let him take your life," she spoke, and the woman looked at her, eyes wide and lip quivering. "Don't let him take you. If you draw breath, then you're alive. You can still fight—move forward. Never surrender to those that try to break you. Live."

A fire burned in her eyes, reflected in that of the woman—and then it was gone, the redhead spinning on her heel to catch up to her husband. He had ascended to a higher roof, his eyes scanning the city for their target. His Vision would find them easily enough, though he did spare her a look as she join him on the ledge.

"What did you say to her?"

"Words of encouragement. Did you find Lanz?"

"I think so—a glimpse of gold that way," he motioned. "You ready?"

"Yeah. Do you want to corner him?"

"If we can. Might be chasing the mouse to the cat."

"We've done it before. Won't be a problem," Catherine nodded and then motioned with her head. "Lead on. Let's take the bastard out."

"It's good to be working together again," Ezio chuckled, leaning over to place a quick kiss on her cheek before he took a leap to the next roof. She followed in suit, and it was like a breath of fresh air.

The Follower kept to the tunnels beneath the earth where the air was stale and full of death, and the walls threatened to squeeze you in. There was so little light and often felt like you might suffocate after the next breath. She had become accustomed to it in her months below, but now she had reclaimed a taste of freedom and it was sweet. The world was vast and open under the blue sky, and the hot sunlight warming the breeze that kissed her cheeks. A sweat dared to form on her brow, and air filled her lungs to the point of popping. It was so different and brought so many memories—and feelings. The voices were quiet, oddly enough, and instead she heard only the sounds of the city and her heart beating and their boots clapping against the rooftops as they made leaps and bounds across them.

Of all things, she laughed, as they came to a sturdy spot and Ezio paused to search for their target. He looked to her, surprise etched into his features, and then he laughed, too. Whether it was with relief or joy, she wasn't sure, but her mind felt clearer. It was a strange feeling, and she couldn't recall when she'd last felt like this. It was surreal. As if she were in another body.

"Huh," she hummed, looking at her upturned palm. It tingled a little, or perhaps she was imagining things. Her heart was certainly beating quickly, and things seemed so much— _more_.

"Are you alright?" Ezio called, and she blinked before looking to him. She chuckled, but nodded, and he smiled back. "Good. The target is close. You see that roof there? He's there. Behind the burned down walls."

"I see him. Barely. How do you want to handle this?" she asked, checking her weapons. She didn't have a Hidden Blade just yet, but daggers and a sword would do just fine.

"I'll lure him down—."

"—or shove him off?" she offered, earning a snicker.

"Regardless, I'll get him down, and you strike him if you can, or at least get him to where we can."

"Let's do it then," Catherine nodded, and Ezio began his climb.

For all his gear, he could be quiet—and quick—as he scaled the buildings' walls and ventured ever closer to their target. The redhead followed his movements, along with the Lanz character, and made towards one of the sides. It was just a guess as to where the bastard might go, but it was a good one: as soon as Ezio pulled himself over the edge of the roof the man spotted him. He gave out a rather pitiful yelp before leaping down to the roof below. He rolled to ease the impact and then leaped off towards the ground below. Catherine was on him at once, dagger drawn, and slicing across at his throat. However, he was lither than she expected. He narrowly missed death, the weapon's tip only making a thin slice that drew little blood. He cursed as he quickly pulled out his own dagger and bounded back. Ezio joined her then, briefly revealing his Hidden Blade.

"Good God… there's fucking _two_ of them now! Shit! I didn't sign up for this!" he snarled. "Fucking whore didn't tell me I'd had to deal with this! Cesare can kiss my ass!"

Lanz turned and bolted. Ezio cursed and Catherine shot after him. Blood rushed through her, and her heartbeat hammered so loud it deafened her. The world fell away, the thrill of the hunt consuming her. The sounds of the city gave way for the voices, and that was all she needed.

The target shot back through the poorer section of the city, leading back towards the main road. He shoved through anyone that got in his way, some being slashed across the chest or arm if they didn't move fast enough. By the time the Assassins passed through the people had steered well clear of things, and with the growing commotion more were getting out of their path. Turns were getting tighter, though, and the streets smaller, and a bit more crowded. Worse still, red was among the people now and even they were beginning to notice. Still, Catherine hounded after the man, always just a step out of reach. He was swifter than he looked, and he knew the city streets well.

As such, it was only by luck that he slammed right into a young man that had been shoved backwards. He had a sword drawn, but it clattered out of his grasp as Lanz toppled down with him, losing his own weapon. He was dazed briefly, and it spelled his end: Catherine leapt upon the Cento Occhi gang member and slammed the dagger into his throat. She made sure it went all the way to the hilt, her face close to his. She watched as he gagged on blood, his eyes bulging from the sockets as he arched. He gurgled and coughed, not yet dead, but soon to be with each breath drowning in red.

"Go to hell where scum like you belongs, you bastard," she hissed, low and guttural, and the fire flowing through her was intoxicating. "May you burn with the rest of the Borgia."

"Catherine!"

The redhead's gaze shot to her husband, whom had drawn his blade. He was not looking to her, though, but to a group of men—of soldiers—just beyond. Her hazel eyes met dark ones, wide and full of undoubtedly shock. It was shaken off, though, as they drew their swords and spat their curses. To their right, the young man from before had reclaimed his sword, and now brandished it at the Borgia guards, too.

"Kill them! Kill them all! Anyone who defy the Borgia must die!" the leader of the group howled, and the bloodshed began anew.

The drums of battle beat in her ears in tune with her heart, and it was only the whispers that were louder. They reveled in the chaos and death—in how the men opened their mouths to bay in agony as steel met flesh, but she couldn't hear. The warm spray of blood against her skin was a delight and the shock of a parried blow was exhilarating. There was no describing the sensations coursing through her as she shoved her dagger into the remaining soldier's crotch, rendering him helpless to her final blow—a slash across the neck. He fell, joining the others. A total of eight, by a quick glance, taken down with ease by her and her husband. And another, she recalled, turning to find the young man staring at her, eyes not unlike the soldiers' from before. Unlike them, however, he did not strike, but instead gasped in realization and a bit of awe.

"You-! You are the one—er _ones_ fighting the Borgia! The Assassins!" he spoke, voice almost shaking as he bowed to one knee.

"You need not bow, my friend, you fought bravely," Ezio replied, coming closer and holding out his hand. The man hesitated a moment before taking it firmly, both ignoring the blood on their clothes. He glanced to Catherine, whom sheathed her weapons.

"I have never seen any who fought like you two before—it was… _amazing_ ," he rasped. Ezio glanced to his wife, expression not fully readable.

"Tell me, why were you fighting the guards before we came upon you?"

The man curled his lip, "Because they have taken all I loved and cared for! They have destroyed my family and taken my home, and they take and take from the people and they do not care! We can not let it go on any longer! We must stop them! And I thought—perhaps, if—if _you_ were fighting… then I could, too. I could fight them, and take back _Roma_ for the people, too! But…

He face dropped, fists clenching, "But I was not strong enough. I tried to fight them, but they overpowered me. If not for you, Sir, Madame… they would have killed me."

"You need not be ashamed of this, my friend. You have great courage—the kind _Roma_ needs," the Assassin spoke, and the man looked up to him, a light in his eyes "You have felt it in your heart already, but hear it now: the liberation of _Roma_ —the _true_ battle—has begun. If you choose to flee, do so now, but if you choose to fight, stand with us against the Borgia."

"Yes… Yes!" the man laughed and grasped Ezio's arm again. "I am tired of hiding. I will join you."

The Assassin grinned, "Then seek Niccolò Machiavelli on _Isola Tiberina_ and we will make you one of us. The Borgia's lies will not mask your truth."

"Yes! I will go now! Thank-you! Thank-you!" the man laughed, and, after squeezing Ezio's arm again, he sheathed his sword, and raced off. The two Assassins were alone again, save for the bodies at their feet, and those of the crowd that remained to murmur and whisper. Catherine glanced uneasily at them, wishing she were back in the tunnels instead of this open space, her back exposed.

"We should go," she spoke quickly, and he silently nodded his approval. He ushered her towards back alleyways where the guards wouldn't notice them. It was devoid of other people, too, but he kept them moving until he felt they were safe enough. The opening between homes had a well full of water as well, providing a means to clean off some of his gear. Catherine did the same, especially on her face, which had far more than it should have. It made Ezio's chest tighten, and as he gazed upon her in their silence, he could not help noticing she seemed off—again.

He waited a moment before sighing, "Are you alright?"

"The blood's not mine," she shrugged, splashing a bit of water on her cheek.

"That's not what I meant…"

She looked to him and then to the dagger she unsheathed to clean, "I'm fine."

"You were cruel to those men when you killed them."

"No crueller than they've been to the people here. I strike to kill—do _you_?" she snapped back, and the words hurt worse than they should have.

He frowned, "You know I do. But that wasn't what Mario taught us."

"Mario didn't teach us how to survive the Borgia, either. We can't afford to show them mercy, Ezio. The Borgia will take that weakness and slit our throats with it. We can't show them _any_ weakness," she growled back, fingers tightening on her dagger's hilt. The darkness flared in her eyes, sending a cold chill through the Assassin. His steps were hesitant, but he came beside her and touched her cheek gently with his finger. She flinched—ever so slightly—before turning her head towards him.

"That's not what I meant… Catherine… I'm just…"

"You're worried. I know. But I'm fine. I just had to be like that to defeat the Followers. They don't fight like soldiers."

"You don't have to fight that way anymore— _we're_ fighting together again now. You're not alone."

"…I know," she murmured, head falling. She waited a moment before continuing, "I'll try to remember."

"I'm here for you," he whispered back, his words lifting her gaze to his. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"I know."

His heart hurt again, but he pushed it aside, and smiled back to her instead. His hand fell to hers, which he grasped tightly, wishing he could never let it go again. He wished he could a lot of things, truthfully, but at the very least he could do this.

"Looks like we got a new recruit pretty quick. I think he'll do well as an Assassin," he grinned.

"He was a good fighter, and he seemed sincere. We'll have to see how he holds up in training," she hummed as she wiped her free hand on her pants, still damp from washing.

"Don't be _too_ rough now," Ezio snickered, and she gave him a look.

"I'll be just like Mario."

"Guess we better hurry and find his replacement then."

She smacked his chest, "Hush. I won't scare him off. But we do need to find more."

As if speaking of the Devil himself, a cry rang out, echoing across the city. Both Assassins turned sharply turned towards the exit opposite to the way they came. A clang of steel came next, and it was obvious a ruckus was starting. Catherine raised a brow at her husband, adjusting her bracers.

"Think we found our next recruit?"

"I find it highly unlikely, but… I wouldn't pass up the opportunity," he replied, grinning some as he adjusted his gear, too.

"Well, then. Looks like we're on our way to an army. Let's find a companion for our new novice, shall we?"

"Let's," the Assassin chuckled, and they were off.

* * *

 **15 –** _End_

* * *

 ** _TMWolf:_** _So. For those who remember the game, the recruitment of novices doesn't start until AFTER you rescue Caterina. Well, the game makes it seem like everything happens fast, but her rescue isn't until June or July (I forgot lol), and it was in 1501, so it's been a year since the fall of Monteriggioni. It just fits my story a lot better to have them recruiting now and, really, makes more sense for me. Ezio takes too long to do anything otherwise if you go by the timeline lmao_

 _So. Recruiting time! And also slipping in some of those Templar targets, woo!_

 _P.S. Enjoy more signs of bad stuff for kitty-'Cat. X)_


	16. Points of Authority

**TMWolf:** _Sorry for the delay, folks. It ended up being a very busy and... well, not my best month. I definitely had some down weeks that left me without any urge to want to write or do much. I ended up spending my time playing video games since that did what I needed, and keeping myself busy with school. I'm working on a new step of my research, so it's... been hectic. So, yeah. No writing because I just couldn't bring myself to, but the writing bug finally nipped me and I was able to finish up another chapter. I think another part is that, a part of me knows the story where I'm at (I write ahead) is almost near the end. I knew it'd be shorter, but still._

 _Anyways. Enough of my pouting. Thank-you to everyone who reads my work! You guys make it worth it, and I love how invested you get with the characters :) I hope you'll continue to enjoy and let me know your thoughts, questions, or any critiques!_

 _This chapter is from Linkin Park - Points of Authority_

* * *

 **16** – _Points of Authority_

* * *

 **February 12, 1801**

 **Rome, Italy**

There were four in total—so far.

Three men, and one woman. Each looked around their mid-twenties to mid-thirties, and all had proven their worth in taking on the challenge of becoming Assassins. They had courage and the fire burning within; the desire to face the Borgia without cowering in fear. They each had their own reasons—vengeance; justice; hatred. Whatever the case, they had shown the Auditore they had the spark and were willing to mold themselves into something more; something greater. It was why they had come here, to _Isola Tiberina_ , and sought out Niccolò Machiavelli so that he could fit them with the proper provisions and teach them what they needed to know. This place was to be their new home, and it was in the training room—a lower sector of the building with a wide area—that would serve as their smithy.

And Catherine would be their blacksmith.

So far, she was only mildly impressed. True, they'd showed promise against the soldiers, but it was the common ranks; the weakest of their army. Still, they'd survived and taken down men, which was wort something. They were a bit scrawny, though. They didn't have the same meat on their bones as a mercenary, and their stances already showed flaws.

The men had an air of confidence she didn't like—especially the one on the far right. He was tall, though perhaps a few inches shorter than her husband, although he could just be slouching too much. He had lighter brown hair with decent scruff, and he had old scrapes and scars to suggest he'd seen a scuffle or two. His clothing was a bit more high-end than the others, but his boots were just as worn. Unlike the other two men, though, he also looked at her with what could be mistaken for discontent. That, or annoyance. Perhaps both. She imagined he thought her husband would be teaching him—the "fabled" Assassin of _Roma_. Who was she, after all? No one knew he would have heard of. She was a nobody to him, just a tag along that helped Ezio Auditore. Who did she think _she_ was to teach _him_?

It was expected, of course, though still irked the redhead some.

Catherine looked to the others. The two other men weren't nearly so haughty. They were confused, mostly, and unsure of what was going on, but didn't seem to be concerned she was a woman. They looked more the farmer type, their clothes simple and a bit dirty with old stains. Their hair looked more unkept with curly, dark locks, and their bushy, thick beards weren't well groomed. She could see wear and tear on their hands, suggesting they knew hard work, and there was a hint of muscle under their sleeves. A good sign, though she needed them stronger. At least they looked more malleable than their first compatriot.

She glanced to her fellow female next, whom appeared to be uneasy, or at least unsure of her position. She had a reddish tint to her brown hair, and her eyes were an unusual green, which liked to hide behind her bangs. Her gaze skittered this way and that, never quite meeting Catherine's except to glance away quickly. She wore a man's tunic, worn and torn here and there, and when she looked hard enough she spotted a few nicks from old wounds and a scab or two. She even noted a bruise forming on her shoulders where she'd been struck the day they fought together. She could do well, whether she knew it or not. And like everything else, her anxiousness was to be expected. She was here to be an Assassin, but she was the only female trainee. The job of an Assassin was, in some ways, better suited for a man. It required great strength, endurance, and a fierce, indominable will. Women did not always possess such a thing in the wake of taking a life, but she had already proven she had. Better still, Assassins needed more than that. There was a subtlety that only a woman could wield that would serve a killer better than brute force could ever hope to do.

"So," she spoke at last, arms clasped behind her back. Her students perked up, the one unhappy man narrowing his eyes as he did so. "You wish to become Assassins."

"That _is_ the idea," the unruly man grunted. Catherine stopped herself from shooting a scalding glare, but couldn't deny herself a flare of hot annoyance.

"Then I will be your teacher. I imagine you couldn't tell from first glance, and perhaps the battle during which you were recruited has faded on some of the details, but _I_ am an Assassin, like my husband—the Assassin you all regard so highly," she went on, pausing to watch looks be exchanged. Even the trouble maker raised a brow in what she supposed was begrudging respect. Probably not, though. "Like him, I have trained for decades under the tutelage of the former Assassin and Mercenary Captain, Mario Auditore. He passed along his vast knowledge of the ways of the Assassins until he believed we had mastered it, and now I am here to bestow the same knowledge onto you."

The man scoffed slightly, "Why can't he?"

"Because he's dead," she replied curtly, looking right at him. She said no more, and she did not pause in her stare. He matched her, of course, but he was weaker. She saw him waver; saw his lips press together; saw his fingers clench. He cracked and broke their staring match. His loss had burned him, and it was only the first of many.

"The Borgia—our enemy—killed him. However, my husband and I survived. _We_ remain, and the knowledge lives on with us. This was where the enemy made their first mistake. And now it falls upon myself to teach you how to survive them—and _kill_ them in turn," she spoke, pacing back and forth in front of them, and when their eyes settled on her it was not with uncertainty, but that same fire she'd seen when first meeting them. "Your reasons are your own. Vengeance. Justice. Anger. Vindication. Whatever it may be, you are here now, and you will gain the tools you need to fight against your oppressors. You will be able to take back what they have stolen from you.

She paused to face them again, " _If_ you prove your worth. Not just anyone can become an Assassin. You will endure the harshest training you will ever know. Your body will ache in ways you couldn't imagine. Your blisters will have blisters. Cuts will have cuts. You will cry in frustration, and yet you _will_ push through until you can move no more. And then you will keep going. Assassins must endure everything the enemy can and _more_. You must be faster. Stronger. Smarter. _Better_. And I will you teach you how, but you must have the will to do so. If you do not, then I assure you, you will not join us. And so I offer you this one chance to leave before it begins. If you do not have the heart to become one of us and rise against the Borgia, then leave, and you go without judgement and our highest respects. But if you think you have the strength…"

Catherine looked to her recruits. She waited, watching for any hesitance—any who wished to back away. She had meant what she said. She would not think less of any who did not believe already they could become an Assassin. It had not been an easy life for her, but it had been her only choice, or, at least, it had appeared that way to her. It had been her only means to return home she could fathom, and it was only later it had become something more, but it was never easy. Death was always waiting, eager to pounce with one error. The lesson had become harsher with the loss of her powers, and more still after the loss of her home. Her recruits could not make her— _their —_ mistakes. They had to be stronger. Faster. Fiercer. Deadlier. More ruthless.

They had to be _better_ than them. Than her.

The redhead smiled when not one of the recruits wavered. Not even so much as a flinch or a falling gaze. They were firm in their belief—their will. They were ready to begin.

"Good. Welcome to the Brotherhood. With luck, you'll become an Assassin. If not, well, perhaps you'll still become a bit stronger. Certainly, a bit more bruised," she hummed, coming down from the higher platform to stand just before them. "Like I and all of my mercenary brothers, we'll start with the basics. These will form the fundamentals of your abilities, and you'll come to find they make up a part of _everything_ you do. As such, discard your weapons—put them on the racks."

The recruits exchanged looks, but did as they were told. That is, except the one man who'd showed disdain. He showed it now, too, and was perhaps even about to sneer at her. She faced him head on, gaze never wavering. His looked ready to falter again, but he was, she personally thought, too stubborn.

"Why isn't the Assassin teaching us?"

"I am an Assassin. My husband is another. He and I are both well versed in our skills."

"But why isn't _he_. I thought the infamous one would teach us. I don't know who _you_ are."

"If you must know, he's dealing with matters of the Brotherhood—of our Order. Things you are _attempting_ to become part of."

"Come off it, man," one of the other men scowled, but the insufferable one glared at him.

"Fuck off. I didn't risk my neck against those fucking Borgia dogs to be taught by some woman. How do we even know she's the real deal?"

The woman recruit barked, " _We_ saw her fight! Jut because _you_ didn't—."

Catherine raised her hand, silencing the woman, and regarded the man, "Enough. The three of you, stand back and don't interfere. As for you… if you are so displeased with your situation, you may either leave… or prove your worth."

The redhead began to remove her weapons then, both sword and dagger. If she had a Blade she would have removed that, too. Regardless, she was left with only her bare hands and boots, which she set just so that she was ready for combat. She shifted her feet slightly, balancing herself, and kept one hand in front, ready to counter.

"I will make it easy for you," she went on, and motioned for the man to strike.

He laughed, unbuckled his sword belt, and tossed it aside, "I don't need a sword to beat you. Can't say I'm fond of beatin' a woman, but a man's gotta put them in their place every once in a while, eh?"

"If you think you're up to the occasion," she mused, and the man waited a moment before he lunged. It was a pitiful attempt—bestial, even. He merely charged as if she were such a feeble creature, but she was fine with that. It made it all the easier to side step his attack, sweep his foot with her own, and send him tumbling. She returned to her original position, staring down at him.

"You're dead. Get up. Try again."

"Tsk. Just got quick feet," he snapped, shoving up, and coming at her again. He had, to his credit, learned not to charge, and instead threw a punch. It was sloppy, though. Just an attempt to hit anything possible without any plan involved. It reminded her of a petty barfight or when the men had forgotten their training in a fit of anger. It was a simple thing to out maneuver and counter, and with a simple duck she had his arm in her grasp and wrenched it behind his back. She made sure it was done tightly and up a little too high so it hurt. Even if he was a little stronger, the position was too painful to fight against, and when she kicked his knee forward he went to the ground, preventing any escape.

She touched the back of his neck with the side of her palm, "You're dead. Try again."

"Damn you!" he hissed once he was released, rubbing his shoulder. His haughtiness had faded, she noted. He looked more like a fighter. He was still too brash—too much of a rookie. She had fought too many men to not see the signs, and she could sense it; perhaps even smell it. His fear. Small, but very much so there beneath the surface. His fear made him smarter, though; he was gauging her, trying to find her weak points. He eyed his sword. It would have been advantageous, but it was behind her now.

"Again," she pressed, egging him on. He growled, eyes narrowing, and took on a better stance. He was still shaky, though, and unsure of himself now. He'd failed twice—what were the odds of being victorious on the third? He was preparing, though, and her body tensed instinctually. Blood rushed, vision focused. Breathe came slow, the world grew quiet save the voices, which sang in her ears. They rang in tune with the drum of her heartbeat, and as soon as he moved, so, too, did her body.

He made a feint charge, dodging to the side at the last second. It was a more advanced move, but she'd fought worse. She'd fought trained soldiers and warriors and killers. She'd fought mad men in handfuls. She'd fought time. This mad dog was nothing. The voices urged her on, the call of the fight bringing her to spin just out of his strike, then bring the butt of her palm to his nose. Blood came quick, along with a yelp of pain. She grabbed the hair atop his brow, set a foot behind his heel, and forced him down. She made sure not to slam his head against the stone, but he hit hard on his rear and shoulders. He certainly felt it by his pained groaned as he peered at her through squinted eyes.

"You're _dead_ ," she spoke low and cool, fingers tightening briefly. "Have we reached an understanding?"

"Tsk—fuck! Y-yes," he growled reluctantly, clutching his bleeding face, and she released him.

"Good. Go clean yourself up and see a Doctor if need be. The one on the island is allied with us and will give you aid," she replied before turning to regard her other students, whom shifted a bit nervously. "You three will begin training. I'll start with gauging your hand to hand combat skills. You'll spar with each other for now, and treat it as a proper fight. I need to see where you stand. Pick amongst yourselves who will go first. First to submit loses, the winner faces the next opponent, then the loser of that round faces the first one. Got it? Begin."

Catherine stepped away from the group to lean against a nearby pillar and let the world gradually coming back to how it was. The only sounds were the scuffle of trainees sparring one another—and the scuff of boots of the wounded novice leaving to find a doctor. Her heartbeat slowed, the fire in her veins ebbing as she watched one of the remaining men and the woman begin to fight. She could fathom plenty of reasons as to why they chose this first round as it was, but she let them all slide as she gauged their skillset. Oh, she'd seen them fight soldiers, but this was different. Swinging a sword was one thing, doing so with proper purpose and precision was another. They had potential, though—that she could see with every punch or block or side step. It was raw, but could be turned into a sharp blade to turn against the Borgia.

"That was harsh," a familiar voice hummed from the other side of the pillar.

"Mario's training was harsh—don't tell me you forgot," she hummed back, folding her arms over her chest.

Ezio snorted, "Hardly… but that _was_ unnecessary—nearly breaking his nose. He might not come back."

"He will. He wants to put me in my place. He's like Emilio, but unlike that scum he's against the same enemy. He can be tempered… or he won't join us."

"That's… not comforting. We need them to want to stay with us, not walk away bloodied and beaten, 'Cat," he rumbled uneasily.

"They have to be prepared for the fight they're getting into," she growled back, though her anger was not for her husband. "The Borgia aren't the Pazzi or those we faced before. They won't take it easy on us. We're not _unknown_. All of _Roma_ knows who we are. Who the Assassins are. The Borgia won't stay the blade out of arrogance or ignorance. If they aren't prepared, they _will_ die. They have to be ready. They have to be stronger. They have to _better_ than we were."

He was quiet for a long while before sighing, "Just don't go too far. I'd rather not see you beating them to a pulp every day."

"That was just to knock the arrogance out of him. The others are fine," Catherine snorted, noting how the woman was holding her own still, and using quick movement and her flexibility with greater finesse than expected. The redhead wondered how well she'd do free running the rooftops. Later, though. Catherine spared a glance over her shoulder, "How did the hunt go? Are you alright?"

"Don't worry—the only wound is perhaps to my pride. There wasn't a trace of the target. I'll keep looking, and searching for more recruits. There's another I can search for tomorrow, too."

"Good—anything to get a blow against that bastard… any word on our other goals, though?"

"There might be. La Volpe's courier mentioned they have something, though not necessarily anything good."

"I'll join you once done here. I imagine they'll want to rest after a few hours," Catherine mused, watching as the woman finally met defeat, but made the young man work for it. She made note to learn their names, but for now labeled the winner Man A and the new challenger Man B. "Let him rest for a few minutes—catch his breath."

Both men nodded, and the woman sat on the ground, panting lightly. She'd fought well—she'd make a good Assassin.

"Remember: don't be _too_ hard. Even Mario let up when he knew we needed it," Ezio chuckled.

"Hush. Just focus on finding our enemies. I'll make Assassins of them yet," she quipped back quickly, and her husband chuckled before pushing off the pillar and departing once more. He would probably see to Diana, whom was thankfully busy with her tutoring right now, else she'd no doubt be trying to watch. She'd probably even try to join in.

Perhaps one day.

But not today. Today was for her students, and she felt a sense of eagerness come over her as she watched the two men spar. They, too, had great potential. And, if the novice who finally slunk back in, nose free of blood, proved himself—then he, too, would make a fine Assassin.

One thing was for sure, though; the Borgia would rue the day they let her live.

 **-O-**

"Ah, good, you are both here," La Volpe spoke as he sauntered through the doorway, his lithe frame moving smoothly and silently. There was hardly a pitter patter upon the stone tiles as his cape swayed behind him. He wore his usual grin, although it sobered some as he approached the two Assassins. "I come with news, though, perhaps not the kind you would hope for."

"Still, we would have it," Ezio chuckled, clasping his shoulder warmly. Catherine only nodded with a small smile to the thief, whom returned it in kind.

"We finally found news of one of the nobles that could prove invaluable. His name is Micheletto Corella and he's considered the righthand man of Cesare," he began, and the redhead's fingers clenched. "Our _glorious_ Lord has seen to it he was appointed him the Governor of _Piombino—_ a city on the coast about three days ride from here."

The pause led the redhead to believe it was supposed to mean something. She supposed it already did—she imagined such a title granted him even more power than before, and since he was Cesare's right-hand man, he had a lump sum of it.

Her husband pressed, "Meaning?"

"Meaning, he has work to do in _Piombino_ now, and will not always be directly in _Roma_. He also tends to follow his master into the field, which is where he resides now, according to my men."

"We need to find him," Catherine hissed, earning looks.

La Volpe paused before he spoke, "It would be impossible to reach him at the moment; it is best to wait until he returns to _Roma_. He does every so often—to tend to Cesare's boy."

All familiar names, and all things that didn't matter except Micheletto's. She hadn't forgotten him, or what he had done. That man had to pay, and she would be the one to deliver it. The gaping face of that girl wouldn't let her rest until she did.

"Do you know how often?" Ezio asked, glancing to his wife. He couldn't stop the frown on his face from forming.

"Unfortunately, no; only that I can send word when he has returned. There are… rumors about this man, though—ones that should concern you. He is not a man to trifle with."

"What do you mean?"

"He means, he's a fucking bastard who tortures and kills and _enjoys_ it," Catherine hissed, and the Lord Auditore looked at her sharply now. "He was there at the siege, too. He was the one who captured me. He's ruthless, and he _needs_ to die."

"If he played a role in all this, then he will. La Volpe—you will keep an eye out for him?"

The thief nodded, "Of course. If I find anything else or new I will return."

"Thank-you, my friend," the Assassin replied, holding out an arm to clasp. The thief did the same with Catherine, who managed a smile before her glower returned. Ezio turned towards her, touching her arm gently. She didn't move, but she didn't unclench her fingers, either. A darkness was in her eyes, and her gaze was somewhere else—some place far away. It made his chest ache.

"He hurt you."

Yet another failure—one he hadn't even known about. The knife dug deeper.

"He'll pay for what he did. For all of it."

He wanted to ask what. He wanted to know what this man had done, but he couldn't bring himself to ask. It didn't feel right. He wasn't even sure she would tell him, even after all they'd been through. That uneasiness returned, and he suddenly knew what it was. He was standing right beside her, even touching her, and yet, he felt a million miles away. He felt farther from her than when he thought he had lost her. It felt like drowning—suffocating, even. It was a pain he thought he had known before when he lost his father and brothers, but this? This was immeasurable. The chasm there between them in that moment was infinite, and he had no idea how to surpass it.

"'Cat," he spoke, his voice weak; barely a whisper. It somehow pulled her back, though; pushed back the darkness there. The chasm closed some as she looked to him, a new glow flickering. It reminded him of a man dying of thirst, but there was no water.

"He _must_ die. He has to."

His throat was dry as he cupped her cheek and replied, "He will."

Catherine stared at him for a good, long, endless moment, and he felt the chasm creeping upon them once more. Then she reached up and touched his hand, squeezing it with her eyes closed. She breathed out slowly, met his gaze again, and then she was gone, slipping by him.

He stood there; unable to move, to breathe, to think. Despair filled him, and suddenly drowning felt like a far better fate.

* * *

 **16** – _End_

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 ** _TMWolf:_** _Like I said, I'm moving up the training of recruits to fit my story purposes. So that's going to be going on for the next three years along with a lot more._

 _For now, though, we begin the training, and 'Cat has made sure to nip any naughty boys in the but. Namely, the one who fought her (poorly). She's not taking chances, and... well, there's still plenty wrong._

 _Guess you'll see how it goes hehe..._


	17. Unsteady

_**TMWolf:** And late on the update again, but been focusing a bit on research this time around, so that's kinda why! Also got a bit busy, but managed to finish the chapter I was working on so we are good to update! :) Next one will come when I finish chapters, so it may not be in the 1.5 week time frame. Just to let y'all know! _

_As always, thanks so much for all your reviews! I love how you guys enjoy my OC's and the crazy story I've woven together here! X) Keep 'em coming and let me know if you see any mistakes or have questions!_

 _This chapter is from XXAmbassadors - Unsteady. The lyrics kiiiiiiinda fit here. Sort of. Not quite the right... mood setting, but eh. xD_

 _Enjoy!_

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 **17** – _Unsteady_

* * *

 **April 18, 1501**

 **Rome, Italy**

"You're learning quickly, and your combat has improved greatly, but there's more to being an Assassin than throwing some punches—or stabbing with a blade. You need to be light on your feet as well, and quick with your mind. You're no good to the Order or to the people if you die, even if you take down your target. Assassins are not invulnerable. We may seem like we can take on an army, but we have our limits, and when we reach them we must escape to fight another day. This is where your next stage of training comes in—running away."

The faces of her trainees—Alessandra, the woman; Giotto, the youngest and told apart by a scar on his forehead; Piero the shortest by a few inches and with a reddish tint to his hair; and Jacopo, the "haughty" one, although he'd been more reserved since his beating—were confused, and rightly so. Until now, Catherine had pushed them through combat drill after drill after drill. She pushed them to their limits every day, ensuring they were drenched in sweat, and sometimes speckled with blood if it came about. They sparred with each other, learning new moves every day and improving old ones at the same time. They struck at dummies with both fake and real weapons, learning the feel and weight and motion of it. She worked their stances and footing and adjusted anywhere she felt fit.

Catherine was pleased with the progress, though. The haughty man, since sobering up, had showed the most physical strength, but he was slower, and his endurance lacking. As such, she had him focusing on powerful moves to subdue the foe quickly, avoiding a lengthy battle. Giotto was second in strength but had good instincts. She dared say he had the sense, but regardless he could avoid attacks far better than the others. His endurance was decent, so she focused on tweaking his abilities and form. Piero was quicker than expected, and his smaller physique let him get in shots others wouldn't. He lacked strength, though, compared to the other men, and so his focus was technique—deadly skills to take the opponent out quick. And Alessandra was, as she had expected, the weakest, but her flexibility and speed were better. Like Piero, she was to focus on technique, and psychological warfare; the enemy would underestimate her, and so she needed to learn to outthink and outmaneuver her opponents. In time, Catherine considered having the courtesans teach her a few things—if she was willing.

For now, though, it was time to test their running abilities.

"What would you have us do?" Giotta asked, arms clasped behind his back. They were all dressed in gray robes with hoods to match—befitting their status of novices. It was Machiavelli's idea, and the redhead thought it worked well. They had red sashes around their waist to show their allegiance in a small, subtle way.

"Follow me—back to the hideout," she replied, turning to motion to the tower on the island in the distance. They were off in the heart of _Roma_ , north of the hideout, and not too far from the _Rosa_. She had chosen a decently high spot, which the recruits had managed to climb easily enough. A bit sloppy, but they would learn and refine. She regarded them closely, gauging their reactions as she went on, "Of course, it will not be so simple. The goal is to _not_ touch the ground—and to not get caught. You will do your best to follow me across the rooftop back to the island. You will deal with the perils of your environment, be it the uneven rooftops, slippery tiles, or even archers. Whatever you face, you must be able to escape it. However, I do not expect you to match me on your first run. As such, should you not reach the tower with me, you will have five minutes to reach my position before you have failed. In which case, you should consider yourself _dead_. If I see you come by the roads, you fail as well. If you fall in the water, you fail. Luckily for you, failure only means you will have to run the course again—until you succeed. Those who already had prevailed will be allowed to rest and spend their free time as they like. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mentor!" they called in unison, and a small smile appeared on the redhead's visage. Good. They were ready. A sense of pride filled her, and she was starting to understand why Mario enjoyed what he did. Leading was invigorating even if it was difficult. These were his students, though, and she would forge them into unstoppable weapons that would bleed the Borgia dry.

"Good. Let us begin. Remember: don't touch the ground. Don't fall in the water. Don't get caught. Don't _die_."

Catherine did not spare another moment for them and took off at a sprint. To her delight, there were no shouts of surprised. Rather, she heard boots echoing her own steps, the leather scuffing off the tiled rooftops. She vaulted from the upper building to the lower, rolling to break the fall, and surge back up into a sprint. Air filled her lungs with each deep, fast breath. Adrenaline shot through her blood, giving her the spike of energy she needed. Eyes saw everything; every obstacle, every path, every option. It was like the old days, flying across rooftops of _Firenze_ or _Venezia_. The cold sting of the air against her cheeks; the bright sunlight keeping her warm; the fire burning in her lungs and limbs; the beating drum of her heart. It was wild. Untamed. Unbridled. It summoned forth the primal call—the rush. It was an addiction, almost, and the voices howled. They lulled her into the tunnel and the urge.

Briefly, she regarded an archer not far away. His back was to her, crossbow sheathed on his back. He was still, not even paying attention to her. She was only a few seconds of sprinting away, and he didn't even know she was there. It would be so easy to go over there, slit his throat. He would have deserved it, too. He was Borgia scum. He worked for those bastards, perhaps even swore loyalty. He had earned a Blade to the throat. She would relish in the fading light in his eyes.

A curse from behind stole her attention. Her gaze flickered over her shoulder, where one of the men—Jacopo had slipped and banged his knee. Already she could see a slight stain in the cloth. He had remained upright, though moved with a slight limp. Stubborn one, but it could keep him alive to be able to push through that pain. She made note to remember that. For all his faults, he had promise. The others had paused, ready to help, and she made note of that, too. Already they worked together. They were brothers and sisters, perhaps without realizing it. More good things.

Catherine looked to the archer, whom remained facing away. The urge had faded, and now she was more keenly aware of the sweat forming on her brow. The cool air made a shiver go down her spine, which she shrugged it off as she went on.

The howls did not return, and the redhead vaulted up walls, leapt across rooftops, and raced through the upper stories of _Roma_ back towards their hideout. It was a simple task, and soon enough she had descended to the pillars set in the river between the main city and the island. It was the final test of skill, and all her years had made her nearly an expert at it. She stepped from one to the other with ease and then leapt up to the nearby wall. Her muscles strained from the effort, having run non-stop for nearly ten—maybe even twenty—minutes with all kinds of changes in elevation—but she was used to this. She'd gone for longer and suffered worse, and so climbed the walls. Indents were simple enough to find, and soon she hoisted herself up the final ledge. She turned to look back out at the city, scouring the way she had come.

It took a minute, but she finally spotted the first of the Novices—Alessandra. Catherine couldn't help her smirk as she watched the young woman pause at the final ledge, gauging the distance. She made the attempt, and almost made it, but faltered just enough to be forced to the street. The redhead would let it slide—especially after the woman managed the pillars across the river wall. She had excellent balance, that was for sure. With Alessandra's victory assured, Catherine looked for the others. Of the men, she only didn't see Piero running the roofs. That came as a surprise, and even more so when she saw him clamber up from on the side of a section of buildings, obviously having come from the street. She checked the time in her head and noted they would at least two minutes behind her. She continued her vigil, arms folded across her chest as she let the winter air cool her down.

In the end, they all managed to get within the time limit—just barely. Jacopo had been the last, but it was in, in part, due to his injury. He'd struggled on the climb up, his bulk weighing him down, and the injury making it hard to put pressure with his leg. The others had struggled, too, and she let them lie down around her in a circle, all panting heavily. Their clothes were soaked, and they looked ready to collapse down fully. They had done good, but they still had ways to go.

"Congratulations, none of you died. I'm pleased with your work, but you need to improve. You shouldn't be about to collapse after that. You need to be able to go longer than this—harder, too. You can never assume anywhere, even here, is safe when being chased. Of course, you should do your best to lose your pursuer before trying to return here to begin with. The Order's safety and secrecy is your priority, for it means protecting your fellow Assassin. Your brothers and sisters. But," she spoke, looking between them all, "you did well. You'll only get stronger from here, so take pride in your work today. You've all earned the rest of the this day and tomorrow off to rest up. But be prepared to run again afterwards—farther this time."

"Y-yes, Mentor," two of them responded, the other two attempting, but panting too heavily.

"Jacopo," Catherine called, and the man looked up. His hand clutched at his leg, the red stain worse. "Go see the Doctor, get your knee better. Be wary of slippery tiles. And Piero… next time touching the ground will mean failure, and I will watch _better_ then. The same goes for you all. Now, go on. You're all dismissed."

The relief that overcome the Novices was palpable, and the redhead couldn't help chuckling a little. Oh, yes—they would become good Assassins. Eventually. For now, they would be very tired, need rest, food, and perhaps a drink. Thankfully, the hideout and island provided most everything they would need. She could honestly use some of it herself, but she had other matters to attend to.

For one, she had a visitor.

"You seem to enjoy spying on me lately. Any comments on my teaching abilities?" she mused wryly, turning back as her dear husband emerged from around one of the top structures of their hideout.

He chuckled, "No, I think you're doing well, although perhaps a bit harsh. Yes, yes, I know—and agree. They need to be strong. I guess… I was so used to how Mario worked slower with us; worked to make me understand."

"Also, you were family. He worried for you. We also didn't have an entire army to fight against," she quipped back. He rolled his eyes, but with a grin as he came to her, stealing a quick kiss. He hated knowing he sensed a difference and hated it more that he forced the feeling away. He didn't dare touch on it, though. Not now. Maybe not ever.

"They'll be ready for the fight once it comes. You make a good teacher."

"You're buttering me up. What's going on?" she mused, brow raised.

"Actually, I have good news; our illusive target has emerged. I thought you might like to come—they may hold good information on getting into the _Castel_."

Catherine's eyes shot to his, "You're certain?"

"Maybe. It's not confirmed, but it's worth a shot. Volpe confirmed the original way I took won't be viable—not without a key to certain doors."

"Then we should find the target. Quickly. They've had our boy too long," she hissed, fingers clenching tightly. He grasped her chin gently, tilting it up to face him.

"We'll get him back. Nothing will stop us," he replied, and he made sure she knew he meant it. She nodded and he released her, though only to motion to the countryside—towards the south.

"The target has been appearing near the Baths of Caracalla, though I'm not sure where. It's a woman, though I don't have a name. She smuggles items for the Borgia, so she may have ways to meet with them in the _Castel_ that we don't know about."

"Perhaps a way to get in and out with our son unnoticed."

He nodded, "Yes—and Caterina. We need to help her escape as well, but first we need to capture the target. We'll need to find some of the people the woman has crossed. They'll tell us what we need to know."

"Give me thirty minutes, and I'll be ready," Catherine spoke softly, eyes focused on the distance, as if searching for the target already.

"I'll be down by the stable with our horses. I'll see you soon, my love, and with luck… our boy, too."

"Yes… with luck," she murmured back, looking to him intensely, and then brushed by. Ezio watched her go, a frown upon his face, and then he, too, headed down.

 **-O-**

Night had descended upon _Roma_ , and with it came a slight chill as the warmth of the day faded. Air appeared as barely-visible puffs of silver air, lit by the full moon's light. Stars twinkled, the wind blew at her cheeks, and in the distance, a wolf howled. The horse to her left whickered, and the other on her right followed suit, shivering slightly so that the saddle and reigns jingled in the quiet night. They had ridden hard and long throughout the remaining hours of the day from the moment Catherine and Ezio had left the _Isola Tiberina_ , and it was only now that they'd found a possible lead. That is, her husband was talking to the man on the hill, whom had been digging a grave. There was nothing in particularly odd about that, and an _Occho_ member had seemed a far more likely source—he had not been, in the end, and they killed him quickly—but Ezio had seen something; a sign. She knew it came with his Vision—this _sense_ of a target or a lead to them, and so she did not question him as he handed her his reigns and headed over.

Catherine watched her husband touch the man's shoulder gently, possible in comfort by the way the man's shoulders sagged to the earth. He looked beaten and broken. How like a victim of the Borgia. Had she been like that, she wondered? Had she been sunken in that cell? That darkness below? Had she crumbled before the dams cracked and splintered? Had she fallen into such despair?

She couldn't recall. Her memory refused such things. It started from this moment and extended only to the fall into the darkness. To the pain and rage. To the taste of blood. To the faces. The screams. The howls.

The horses beside her shifted nervously, but she hardly noticed as she gazed out into the dark, wondering where their target was. Her hands clenched, eager to make right the wrongs she'd endured. The call was loud in the silent night, and she only just barely heard her husband approach, calling out to her. She blinked, pushing back to the lull, and looked to him. He didn't speak at first and waited after a wolf's howl echoed through the air again. She thought she saw an odd glimmer to his eyes, but it was gone as he took his reigns back.

"The man spoke of a woman smuggler—Lia de Russo. Apparently, she killed his wife after the woman refused to leave newly bought Borgia lands. He didn't mention what she did beyond smuggling, but if she'd getting Cesare stolen goods…"

Catherine's heart raced slightly, "Our way in. Where is this Lia de Russo?"

"The _Terme di Caracalla_ —just over there. The structure with many torches. We're in luck, too. She only appears at night, so she may show. And if not… well, we know where to look," he rumbled, and the redhead was pleased to hear the ferocity underlying it. He was ready for this—for the kill.

"Let's find her then, and make her talk," the redhead growled before swinging up into her saddle. Ezio followed suit, and they shot off at a gallop.

It didn't take long to reach the compound, made up of a mixture of tall and short brick buildings with red roof tiles, although they looked almost black in the dark. Torches were the only illumination, which would serve them well. It also served a smuggler hoping to keep goods hidden from prying eyes. That, or meetings with important individuals. There were guards, too—both on the ground and archers up top. They moved in decent sized groups, but there were regular denizens mulling about, too. It seemed the place, despite belonging to the Borgia, wasn't closed to only those they deemed worthy. It was helpful, in a way, and let them slink through a back opening to mingle with the crowds. Archers kept a close eye on things, but not close enough. The two Assassins moved with ease, venturing into close quarters and passageways that might be used for any secret correspondences.

It turned out, to their annoyance, that their target was in no such place. Rather, after what felt hours of scouring, that their prey appeared in an open corridor—just before the pillared ring at the center of the compound. Ezio had pulled short, shooting out an arm to keep Catherine from going by. She peered around him and spotted a woman near an underground entrance. She stood, a cruel smile on her face as she flicked her coat over her shoulder. In her hands, a bloodied dagger, and at her feet, the prone body of a man. He was painted in red, and the pool around him was dark. At last.

Lia de Russo.

The woman chuckled as she crouched down, slowly wiping her blade on the man's shirt. A killer taking pleasure in the moment. She even had the gall to waggle her finger at him, as if the man were but a naughty child.

"We need to corner her. I'll go first—spook her towards me when I get around," Ezio whispered, and once Catherine nodded, he made his move. He kept low and to the shadows, inching around the outskirts of the square area in the hopes of getting to the woman's back. It would block one exit, leaving only two available, and if the redheaded Assassin could move quick enough those, too, would be removed. Ezio was already half way there, and then she could go. It would be simple enough—or, at least, it should have been. The guard who suddenly appeared from her husband's exit and yelped in surprise threw a wrench into things, unfortunately.

Lia de Russo spun up, eyes wide. The guard, surprised by Ezio, was doubly surprised by the woman, and then triply surprised when the Assassin acted on instinct and took the guard out before he could draw his blade. The smuggler spun the other way, just as Catherine came sprinting. There was no stopping it, but the redhead still tried even as the lithe woman darted off like a bullet. She cursed at the same time as her husband and raced after her. To her chagrin, the damned smuggler was faster than she was, even pumping her legs as hard as she could. Her only hope to capture her would be to corner her in one of the buildings, and for that, there was, perhaps, hope.

"I'll go from above!" Ezio barked before vanishing up a wall. Catherine, meanwhile, skidded around a corner, locking her eyes onto the target's cape, which flapped behind her as she went.

"Stop chasing me! Who even sent you!?" she yelped, a trickle of fear in her voice. The redhead's heart raced a little faster, her focus tightening as the fire of adrenaline filled her veins. There were cries of alarm all around amongst the clamor of boots and panicked screaming and the clang of swords or kink of arrow heads off stone, but they all soon began to fade. The darkness became a bit lighter even without the torches, and Catherine's concern grew quiet and small. All that remained was the hunt; the need to bring the woman down.

Nostalgia washed over her as she bounded another corner, a bit closer on the woman's tail. Her voice was a bit higher, a shrill in screams. It spurned the Assassin's legs harder, pushed her lungs to work faster; made her heart beat so loud it drowned out all noise. That is, except the voices—the howls. They reached her above all else, and the memories came. They were there, images flickering off the light of torches in the night. She felt the despair, stabbing her like knives. She felt the fear, so cold it froze her blood. She felt the pain, both body and mind, and in its wake was the burning fire of boundless rage. And above it all she heard the cries. She saw the faces. She heard the calls for blood, and she had answered it. Blood had flooded the catacombs, and she had willingly provided.

Tonight, she would fill the coffers once more.

The woman faltered, her boot scuffing wrong and causing her to stumble. A feral sound escaped the Assassin as she lunged, tackling the smuggler to the ground. Her hand found the dagger on her belt, and steel met flesh. She pushed it to the hilt into the woman's leg, wrenching forth a guttural scream of agony from her. When the woman looked into the eyes of her attacker, fear overcame her features and she wailed in panic, thrashing and turning in a futile attempt to escape. The Assassin flicked another dagger from her belt and use it to shove the smuggler's hand back over her head and into the dirt below, metal passing through flesh to earth. The woman screamed more, only to grow silent as a hand slapped over her mouth.

"Shut up or I'll _kill_ you," Catherine hissed, fingers pushing hard against the woman's cheek. To her credit, she only whimpered and stared with wide, wild eyes. A rush filled the redhead, and her free hand shook anxiously. She shifted her weight onto the smuggler's hips instead and brought her face close. "Now, you listen. You are going to tell me about your connections to the Borgia, and how you get into the _Castel_. Don't scream. I'll cut more than your leg and hand if you do. You do as your told and you tell me what I want, or you'll suffer. Do you understand?"

She lifted her hand, allowing the woman to sob, "I don't know!"

Catherine twisted the dagger in her leg, covering the woman's mouth so she wouldn't scream again, "You're _lying._ We know you smuggle goods to the Borgia. You must get them to the _Castel_ somehow. Now, answer me, or I give you another scar."

"I swear I don't know! I am allied with the Borgia, yes! I am! I get them goods! But I don't deliver to the _Castel_!" she bellowed, body shaking. A flicker of rage passed through the redhead. Snatching up a third, smaller dagger, she shoved through the woman's shoulder. The Borgia scum shrieked as it was pulled free.

"Do. Not. Lie. To. _Me_. I will have my way in. I will take back what was stolen from me!" she hissed, the voices baying now, demanding more blood. They would not be satisfied until the woman pled for death. She worked for the Borgia, and she would suffer as they suffered. She would have more than her child back. She would have her vengeance.

"I don't—No!" she cried as the dagger struck her again, this time in the other leg. The wet steel was put against her cheek next.

"If you lie one more time, I will _gut_ you—," Catherine growled, only to be suddenly pulled back. She spun on her attacker but stopped short when she found not a guard or scoundrel, but Ezio. The rage in her ebbed some, but only enough so that she did not return to her prey. Instead, she met her husband's gaze, his eyes wide and a look she had not seen before on his face. At least, not one he'd ever given her. She did not know what to make of it, only that it made her gut twist and tie into a fierce knot and she had to fight against the urge to strike the smuggler again. Ezio made the choice for her, crouching down beside the smuggler, whom tried to move, but forgot her hand was stuck. She looked into his eyes, her fear palpable, and he had only pity for her in that moment.

"I don't—I don't know what she wants. I don't go to the _Castel_ , I swear! I just give them goods! I don't know!" she rasped, and the Assassin's lips creased together firmly. His stomach churned, but he forced the sensation back. Instead he reached over and pulled the dagger free. She yelped but was relieved to have her hand back. She looked to him, eyes watering. "Thank-you. I… I honestly don't know. I just smuggle things. I'm not a bad person."

Ezio was quiet, fingers clenching the dagger, and then sighed after a few moments, "Unfortunately, you are. Rest in Peace."

The woman didn't get the chance to even gasp as the dagger found her throat, cutting off her words, and bringing her life to an end. The Assassin laid her down slowly, pulling her eyelids closed. He wiped the dagger clean next as he stood and held it out to his wife. When she grabbed it, he made sure their eyes met, and the silent words passed between them. She did not look away, but the anxiousness was challenged by an unease.

"We need to go," he said at last—the echo of guards sounding the alarm reached their ears—and they sped off into the night.

Their horses were where they left them, and Ezio pushed them at a hard gallop through the countryside until they were far away from the baths, almost halfway to Bartolomeo's barracks. Only then did the Assassins let their horses rest, dismounting near a small creek to let them drink. It was there he approached his wife, whom regarded him carefully; prepared for a blow.

"Catherine. What the _fuck_ was that?" he spoke firmly, almost at a growl, and hated himself for it. Yet, he could not keep the anger from his voice. The vileness of what he had witness was too much, and to have come from his wife!? His _Catherine_?

"She was lying. She _knew_ ," she growled back, eyes falling from his gaze as her hands clenched.

"No, she didn't. She wasn't lying about that. You _tortured_ her, Catherine!"

"She could have known something! She was trying to get out of it! She lied about being a good person! You said so yourself!"

He jabbed a finger at the ground, "That is not our way! We do not torture our targets! We cut them down as quickly and painlessly as we can! We are not monsters, Catherine!"

"The Borgia are not so merciful, Ezio," she snapped.

His eyes widened slightly, and then settled into a harsh glare, " _We_ are not the Borgia. _We_ are _better_ than them! This isn't what we do!"

"I just want to get our son back! She could have known something!"

"But she _didn't_!" he rasped, and when she didn't look to him, his shoulders fell. He sighed and reached for her but stopped short. Pain etched onto his face as he called out to her, "Catherine, what's wrong? Why did you do it? This isn't like you. You would never do this to someone—no matter how vile they were."

She was quiet for a long while, the anger in her cooling as she whispered, "I just want our child back. I want Cesare to _pay_."

"And we _will_. We'll get him back. I swore to you."

"But how can you be sure!?" she cried, a reflection of his own agony on her visage.

"I… I can't. But… but I _know_. I _believe_ it. I will do everything it takes to get him back. I promised you. You know I'll keep my word," he replied softly, reaching out and touching her face. She didn't look to him, but the wildness he had feared not so long ago had faded. His Catherine—the one he knew—was returning. "We can't become the enemy, Catherine. We can't. We must be better, and that means more than being stronger. We must do what's _right_ when others don't. Mario wouldn't have wanted us to become this. The others wouldn't, either. We must stay true to the Order. We can't become—."

"—the Borgia. We can't become… _them_ ," she finished, but still couldn't meet his gaze. He took it, though, and kissed her brow. He left his forehead against hers, wishing more than ever he could take all the pain away—to go back and save her from the horrors that plagued her. But this was all he could do, and he prayed it would be enough.

"I'm sorry," she spoke again and this time she did look up at him. He smiled back gently, stroking her hair out from her face.

"Just… don't scare me like that again, alright?"

"Okay."

"Alright… let's head back. We have other targets to go after, and, with luck, the others will have better new in the coming weeks. We'll find a safe way in. We will," he told her, hand dropping to hers to squeeze it gently. She did not reply, but the return of her usual self was enough. At least, that's what he told himself as he mounted his steed and she did the same.

Yet, he could not shake his doubt the ride back, nor through the sleeplessness night, or the many more weeks to come.

* * *

 **17 –** _End_

* * *

 ** _TMWolf:_** _Aaaaand short, but important chapter done. Got some... not so good things going on, and the signs are becoming more clear. Catherine has, ah, quite the issues to deal with :L_

 _But hey, how about them Novices, eh? They're getting a lot stronger, yay!_

 _Until next time ID_


	18. Writing's On the Wall

**TMWolf** \- _Back for an update! :) Looks like I probably won't have regular updates any time soon, although I feel I'm almost done with the story. I write ahead, but don't like to update until I finish a chapter. I'm just about through the game, though, or at least things are moving quick to the finale. It's a wild ride, and I'm both sad and happy it's coming to an end. Not for y'all in a while, though-you're only on ch. 18 ;)_

 _Thank-you for all your reviews by the way! I seriously just absolutely love, love, LOVE hearing what you have to say, and I always appreciate when people point out my errors! I especially need them with my busy life going on, which can make me miss them more than I like! XP So keep 'em coming! :'D_

 _This chapter's song by Sam Smith - Writing's On the Wall (from the James Bond movie!)_

* * *

 **18** _ **–**_ _Writing's On the Wall_

* * *

 **May 10, 1501**

 **Rome, Italy**

 _-them all._

Ezio jolted awake, a sound breaking through his dreams. His first instinct was to prepare for attack, but his Vision told him no dangers were there, although the hairs on the back of his neck were standing. His heart raced slightly, but he didn't pull out of his knife as he turned to look at the other side of the room. Again, no enemy, but rather his wife, clad in a light-blue light. She was sitting up, facing ahead, looking at something in the dark. Her fingers clenched the sheets, her eyes unblinking. Her body was tense, and he opened his mouth to speak. He paused, though, blinking quickly. For a moment there, he thought he'd seen a flicker of red come into her color, but it must have been his imagination. She was blue once more.

"'Cat?" he called softly, reaching over to touch her hand. She visibly flinched, blinking quickly, and looked to him. There was an oddness to her features, and he recalled seeing it once before. He couldn't quite remember where as she smiled softly, but it didn't look sincere.

"Sorry, having trouble sleeping tonight. Go back to sleep," she spoke softly, brushing his cheek with her hand. It felt cold. She looked away from him without waiting for a reply, her gaze peering into the dark again. He couldn't tell what, and he couldn't bring himself to ask. He sighed softly, squeezed her fingers, and lay back down. He closed his eyes and hoped sleep would come quick, if only to numb him to the guilt and the fear festering in his belly.

He nearly did, but just as his dreams were ready to take him he remembered where he'd seen the look.

It had been in the dark of night—when his wife had tortured the Borgia smuggler.

 **-O-**

 **June 02, 1501**

 **Rome, Italy**

Catherine paced the training room of the _Isola Tiberina_ , the basement serving as the host for their exercises. Her eyes focused intently on their recruits, each group trading blows with their blunted weapons. They'd evened the numbers to six, adding in another bulky man called Carlo who could match with Jacopo, and a woman who went by Belloza, and was much thicker than most. She had bulk that helped her keep up with the men in battle but made her slower and less versatile than the others. They, like the others, had learned quickly and improved as such, but now their progress was reaching a new level. Their training was fiercer and more complex, and their mentor more ferocious. She allowed no mistakes—no slips of any kind. If they were to be ready for the war to come, they could no afford them. One minor mishap meant death, and they were only an Order of eight, including herself and her Ezio. Eight against the entirety of _Roma_ 's army, essentially. While one Assassin could equal twenty men at times, they would still be the first newest recruits since Mario Auditore had brought them to the fold decades ago. They needed to be better if their small numbers hoped to survive—and _win_.

The redhead spun on her heels as she reached Piero and Giotto. They had both become fond of the sword, and now sliced at each other, parrying or dodging blows. Sweat piddled on their brows, splashing off as they exerted themselves. Fresh scabs could be seen, and there were certainly new bruises to be had as Giotto slapped his blunt weapon against Piero's side. The smaller man grunted, visibly in pain, but recovered quickly, ducking below the next swing. He thrust forward, slamming his sword hilt into his opponent's gut, earning a point himself. It swung a little too low, causing his brother to hunker over, looking ready to hurl. Piero immediately dropped his stance and came over, touching his back gently.

"I'm sorry—I didn't mean to hit your balls!" he hissed with sympathetic pain.

"It's fine—you missed," Giotto chuckled, but he was slow to lean back up straight.

Catherine's sharp bark made them jump, "What are you doing? Finish him."

"Huh? But, Mentor—I hit him pretty hard in the… er…" the young man winced, glancing down to his comrade. She imagined they were friends, the two of them often seen together with stupid grins on their faces. The redhead disregarded such things now.

"So? The point of this training is to teach you to be ruthless against your enemy—to use _all_ their weaknesses against them. Your enemies will not be merciful or kind or hope they didn't hit you too hard in the _cock_. They will strike you there and then they will strike you _down_ ," she hissed, coming forward. Giotto quickly strained despite his pain, and kept his head bowed. Around them, the others paused in their efforts, exchanging looks. "Now take your sword, and fight like your life depends on it. If you do not here, then you won't out there."

"I… yes, Mentor," Pierro mumbled, shoulders slumped, but tense. Giotto was much the same, mumbling his apologies as well. They returned to proper stance, although the bigger of the two was uneasy in his. The pain in his groin was all too apparent as they began to go again, and Pierro soon took the advantage and even brought his comrade to the ground with a trip. Giotto rolled up, but his brother was there, blade striking his thigh. He yelped, the blow sharp and painful even with a dull edge. He clasped a hand to his leg, turning away with a hiss while his friend grinned a bit impishly.

"Don't just stand there— _finish him_."

Pierro looked to Catherine, eyes wide, "I—but—I got the blow?"

"Now finish him. You struck him, now end him."

"But—he's… we're allies."

"Right now, he is your enemy. Treat him as such."

"I… I don't think I can. We're all allies here."

Catherine breathed out slowly and then picked up Giotto's sword, "Then I will be your opponent. Today, I am Cesare Borgia, and you are an Assassin. Fight me with all you have, or I will kill you and everyone you love."

"Ah—but, Mentor," Pierro began, but could say no more as Catherine suddenly lunged. She struck hard and fast, and the young man barely hard time to parry it as he half-stumbled backwards. He was pushed back two more steps before he understood the gravity of the situation and tried to counter attack. His speed worked in his favor, and a few times the redhead had to duck, dodge, and side step, but then she went on the offensive again. The novice's strength was lacking after going through a bout, and panic steadily began to paint itself into his features. His Mentor was more experienced, and more ruthless. He was unaccustomed to the ferocity in her strikes or her unrelenting charge.

In the end, he faltered, and with a wide, upward ark, Catherine struck Pierro's hand. He yelped as his sword flew from his hands as well, and then fell when the redhead swung her leg into the back of his heel. He held his smarting fingers tight against his chest as his Mentor stood over him, blunt edge of the blade pressed against his stomach. He found eyes hard and cold staring down at him, forcing him to look away.

"You're _dead_ ," she growled, and then turned her gaze to the others. There was a nervousness to their stance, to which she scowled. "That was _pitiful._ If you are to be Assassins, you must be fight with _everything_ you have—even in a mock battle. What if this had been the real thing, hmm? What if I really was Cesare? Or even a Borgia dog? Hmm? Do you think Pierro would be alive right now? Do you think this would be a dulled blade? Do you think I wouldn't hesitate to stick you like a pig?!

She sliced at the air with her weapon, eyes blazing, "The Borgia won't show you _mercy_. They will see you and they will _kill_ you without hesitation. You must be prepared to fight for your life and to strike down _any_ who get in your way. You will be on your own out there at times, and you will have to survive. And when you are together you must be able to rely on one another—to trust that each and every one of you will do everything in your power to keep each other alive and put an end to the Borgia scum. If you show mercy here and now, you will show it to the enemy, and I promise you… the Borgia don't know such kindness.

Catherine paused, turning to Pierro, "You must all be stronger. Better. To stop the Borgia and liberate this city, you have to be willing to do what no one else can."

As her words ended, a heavy silence fell over the group. The young Assassin in training met her gaze briefly, but then looked away again, his visage tainted with shame. Giotto had a similar look, though he sent a sympathetic one to his friend as well.

"Catherine."

All eyes shot to the entryway of the training room where Ezio Auditore stood. In his arms was Diana, watching with wide, curious eyes that shined with excitement. Next to him was the Lady Maria, whom regarded things coolly, ever unreadable. The redheaded child made a sound of delight and waved foolishly.

"Mama!" she called out, and a small smile appeared on the woman's face. She flipped the blade in her hand around, holding the handle out to Giotto.

"Here," she spoke, and he took it, keeping his gaze low. She made for her daughter as she continued, "Keep at your training. Remember: fight like you're facing the Borgia."

It took a moment or two, but the novices began to clash with their weapons once more while their Mentor approached her husband and mother-in-law. Diana reached fervently, and Catherine was all too happy to bring her daughter to her chest. She hoisted her up on one arm, features softening as she kissed the little girl's cheek.

"How's my sweet girl?" she cooed.

"Good! I just got back from lessons and visiting Auntie Claudia and her ladies! They're all so nice to me," she grinned while the redhead raised a brow to her family.

"We keep it… innocent," Maria smiled, a flicker of something else behind it.

"I see training is… getting intense," Ezio mused, glancing to the novices. His tone suggested more, but the redhead ignored it as her child squirmed slightly.

"I wanna train, too, Mama! I wanna learn how to fight with a sword and fight the bad men! I wanna help, too!"

"Sorry, my sweet girl… but this fight is not yours. You are too young," Catherine spoke softly, brushing a loose lock back into her hair net. When the child pouted, she chuckled and put a finger to her pink lips, "Now, now… no fussing, my love. You just leave it to your Mama and Papa. We will stop the bad men. We promise… we're going to fight them and stop them. They won't hurt you or anyone else anymore. We'll make sure they pay for all they've done to us and everyone. I promise."

"Mmm I still wanna learn how to fight," Diana huffed, tilting her head some.

The redhead laughed, "Perhaps one day, my darling Diana. But not today."

"Mmm fiiiine… but today you'll play with me, right? You promised!"

"Oh, that's right, I did, didn't I?"

Ezio chuckled, "You did. She's been talking about it all day now. Go on, I'll take over the training for now. I need to get more involved, anyways."

"Alright… they're finishing up with sparring, then I let them rest before free running the streets. I'll see you at dinner then?" she inquired, and he nodded before stealing a quick kiss. He gave Diana one on her forehead next. "Alright then. Come on, Diana. Let's go have some fun, shall we?"

"Yes! Let's go! I want to show you the new book I have!" the little girl beamed, bouncing in her mother's arms some as the redhead headed towards the stairs leading to the upper rooms. Ezio watched her go the entire way, his heart heavy in his chest. A deep sigh escaped him, and his forlorn expression was only disrupted when a hand touched his arm. He turned towards his mother, whom shared a similar look in her eyes. Her hand moved to his cheek, which he leaned into and grasped tightly. He closed his eyes, sighing deeply once more.

"Mother… I… Catherine… She's…"

"She is sick, my son," Maria spoke softly, at a barely audible whisper. Beyond them, the sound of parrying weapons echoed. "It is not too terrible now, but it is the kind that grows and spreads."

"I don't know what to do …"

"It is not a sickness medicine can heal, I fear … It is a special kind… one you will have to find the cure for on your own."

"I… I just… I'm afraid, Mother. For her. For Diana. For _us_. I want to help her. I want to _save_ her."

"I know… I know, and it grieves me so to see you both this way…," Maria sighed softly. "Try and find what caused her ailment. Find the _true_ source. Perhaps then you may know what can be done… But for now, go. Your students need you. They need to be set on the proper path."

"I know," Ezio smiled weakly. He kissed his mother's brow gently, and then pulled away from her grasp. She watched him go for a moment and then turned and left herself, the worry gnawing away at her gut almost as much as it did her son's.

"Ah, Mentor. You'll be taking over now?" Alessandra inquired as the Lord Auditore approached. He nodded, and visible relief came over the group. "Do we keep sparring or…?"

He nodded, "Yes, I'd like to see the rest of you spar still. I have not done enough while searching for the Borgia's allies."

"Ah, if it's alright, Mentor, I'd rather not, I'm exhausted… and I can't see Giotto as a Borgia. He's too nice! And he keeps making me laugh!" Pierro huffed, though grinned when his friend sent a foolish look his way.

"True, I think you've had enough… but I suppose that brings me to a good point: although harsh… my wife was not entirely wrong. I do not expect you to be able to view your comrades—your brothers and sisters—as the enemy… but the Borgia will, I assure you, not show mercy. Every day out there is one I might die. Any mistake or slip could have a crossbow bolt in my back or a blade through my gut. You must be ready for anything and everything, and Catherine means well when she pushes you. She doesn't want you to be unprepared for the worst."

"It's… we understand," Carlo shrugged. "We know they have taken even more from you than us. You two know the dangers better."

"But I wouldn't mind not getting beat up by her. Her swordsmanship is incredible," Giotto huffed, shaking his head.

Pierro scoffed, waving his hand, "Tell me about it. I'm going to feel this for a week!"

"Maybe you should just get better at fighting," Belloza smirked, earning a pout.

Alessandra laughed, "To be fair, the Lady Auditore _is_ a master Assassin like our Lord here. It's only expected she could best us—even Jacopo here."

"Shut it, woman. Or I'll remind you who can best _you_ ," the haughty man snapped, but there was less bite to his words than expected. The black-haired woman smirked playfully in kind.

Ezio couldn't help smiling. It warmed his heart to see them all getting along so well already. He hadn't known what to expect when he started this _thing_ —this _hope_ , but it was more than he could have imagined. He could see the bonds forming between them, and he was proud to call them his fellow Assassins, or at least in-training. Mario would have been proud of them, he was sure, as would have been his father. He was doubly glad they held no grudge against his wife, despite the growing madness—and it was indeed madness. He had tried to deny it, but he could no longer. Thank God it had not infected any others.

Still, the worry continued to gnaw at him.

"Alright then, get to work you lot," he chuckled, forcing the feeling back. "Pierro, Giotto, you may take your break. You've had enough. And go see about that hand if you need to. But don't go too far—you still need to run the streets, especially the new recruits. I want you all to know _Roma_ like the back of your hand by the time you're properly inducted."

"Yes, Mentor!" was the chorus of replies, and they went back to work. Ezio made sure to walk close, his mind taking in it all, and wondering how the hell he could help his wife.

By the time training had ended, he still had no answer.

 **-O-**

 **June 18, 1501**

 ** _Roma, Italy_**

"Ah, Machiavelli, you're here. I take it the others are as well?" Ezio called as he walked into the main forum of the hideout, Catherine right at his side. They had just put Diana to bed, the young girl exhausted after a day of traveling the countryside outside the city. She was learning to ride a horse now and loved the practice. She especially love doting on the animals, but it was hard work, and she'd earned a good rest. Ezio was just relieved that his wife had seemed at ease. He couldn't recall the last time the redhead had seemed so elated for more than a few hours. The revelry had ended with sunset, though, and it was time to get down to business—specifically the kind that called for all three of their faction leaders to met in the _Isola_ 's drawing room. Truthfully, it was the smaller section of the library, but it had a desk, and provided enough privacy to do well for meetings.

"Yes, they've all gathered in the back. It seemed there is much to discuss," the nobleman replied, bowing his head respectfully. "How fares your training? Are your novices ready?"

"Are we going to need them?" Catherine inquired, brow raised.

Machiavelli paused, "Perhaps. I am… uncertain."

"They… could use more training, but they can hold their own now. It wouldn't hurt to give them proper experience," the redhead mused, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

"What's going on?" Ezio pressed, brow furrowed.

"Perhaps it's best you hear from the others first. I am merely being speculative."

"I see," the Assassin mused, sharing a look with his wife. No more was said, though, and they followed the nobleman into the back room. The novices were back in their rooms or perhaps out in the city—they had been given the day off after all their hard work. While training as much as possible was needed, their bodies required rest and recovery, and Ezio hadn't failed to notice they needed a break, if only mentally. Having freedom to relax and play was good for the soul. Hell, even Mario had given them time off, too.

They were all gathered in a circle; _La Volpe_ , Claudia, and Bartolomeo. They all greeted the arriving trio well enough—the thief leader not so much towards the nobleman—and quickly gave their updates. The Thieves were spreading far, the work of the Assassins making it easier; the mercenaries were winning and losing as always, but with the Borgia facing more than one enemy now, it was the French that posed the greatest threat; the Courtesans were more successful than ever, and Claudia was learning more and more secrets by the minute All were gaining more recruits to boot and each new member gave strength to the Order.

In short, things were going well—for everyone.

"So. Is there anything else?" Ezio inquired as they finished the round.

Bartolomeo nodded as he stepped forward, waving a hand, "I've been following that bastard Cesare's movements in the field. He's keeping his army out in the countryside, but he and his personal guard are returning to _Roma_ soon. I imagine he is coming to visit the _Castel Sant'Angelo_ to meet with the Pope there."

"And I have news of the Apple," _La Volpe_ smirked slightly. "My spies tell me that it has been secreted to someone for study. I am still working on determining his identity."

Claudia spoke next, "Caterina will be moved to the prison within the _Castello_ in a few weeks. According to the Pope, she tried to kill him years ago with some letter she sent. He claims it was imbued with poison because he deprived her of her fiefdoms with a Papal bull."

" _Really?"_ Ezio snorted, shaking his head.

Catherine scowled, "Bastard. Do we have a way in?"

"Hmm. Perhaps," Machiavelli responded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "My informants spoke of a damaged gate along the right side that will be taken out to be replaced at some point, though I am not sure when. I can see about pressing my informant to learn more."

"My thieves can keep watch as well, although it is of little good until Cesare arrives," the thief leader mused, glancing at the nobleman with an unreadable look.

"How long until he does?" Catherine growled, eyes narrowed.

"He will most likely take a few weeks—he likes to visit each of his strongholds he has set up; to really the troops and boost morale," Bartolomeo mused, shaking a finger. "But this is a good thing. This will give you time to prepare. I cannot draw them away like I did before, but the main armies are out in the field anyways, and I can leave men with you here."

Claudia shrugged, frowning slightly, "At most my girls can help hide you during the escape—and secret Caterina away if need be. But otherwise, there is no more I can give. We just know she will be in the _Castelo_ dungeons."

"If you would like, my lady, I could send Giovanni to lead the city mercenaries. There will be quite the uproar when you storm Cesare's palace," the mercenary commander offered, which earned a grateful smile from the woman as she nodded.

 _La Volpe_ hummed, "I'll keep my thieves listening for when the coast will be clear, and as soon as I know the man who holds the Apple I will find you again."

"Then it is settled: the _Castello_ is our battleground. _Roma_ will heal quickly with Cesare and Rodrigo gone. You must not make the same mistake in the Vault, Ezio. You must kill them," Machiavelli pressed, looking to the Assassin firmly. Ezio nodded back—without hesitation.

"You can count on it," Catherine spoke low and cool, fingers clenched tight.

"Yes…" Claudia added, a mixture of regret, pain, and determination in her eyes. "They must pay for the deaths of our loved ones… for Ottavio. For my Federico… for Mario. For our brothers and father. For our people."

"You have my word—they will die. When they are in the _Castel_ … we will cut them down and put an end to this," Ezio affirmed, his voice stern and gaze stalwart. "I thank-you for all you have done to help us—to help this Order… and this city. We will free it from the grasp of the Borgia."

The revelry and confidence was shared all around, and with the plan set, the players began to take their leave. Only _La Volpe_ remained, his gaze following Machiavelli's back until the man was gone from sight, and then his eyes turned to the two Assassins. They regarded him back curiously as he began to pace. Ezio expected it to be about the nobleman, the thief still unable to quell his unease about things, but was surprised when it was a different man he spoke the name of.

"Michelleto," he started, glancing to Catherine, whom tensed. "It seems he is also on the move—here, to _Roma_. He is going ahead of Cesare, no doubt to secure things before he arrives. I am not yet certain, but I _am_ sure he will be here soon. He generally moves alone, but you should be prepared. He is not an easy man to learn about."

"Can you know when he's near _Roma_?" the redhead asked, almost too quickly.

"Yes, I can. I have more eyes than even those damn _Cento Occh_ i _._ When he is within a day's ride, we will know."

"Thank-you, _Volpe_. We will be ready for him," Ezio nodded, clasping the man's shoulder. The thief nodded and then took his leave. The Assassin regarded his wife, and while he himself lusted for vengeance on a man that had dared harm his wife, the darkness in her eyes worried him. He touched her fingers gently. "Catherine?"

"I'm alright," she replied without hesitation, grasping his fingers back. "He needs to die, too. He _has_ to."

"He will—for _Roma_ ," he spoke, stressing the last words. As much as he did want this for revenge, they had to be more than that. It had taken time for him to understand it, but seeing the changes they'd made so far, and the shadows that plagued his wife, it had become clearer. Killing the Borgias _had_ to be foe the right reasons. Revenge could only be a smaller portion—an extra recompense. Nothing more. Their cause had to be just, else they became no better than the enemy.

Catherine was quiet for far too long, but then said softly, "For _Roma_."

It wasn't much, but it would have to be enough.

And now—now they would prepare for the fight to come.

* * *

 **18 –** _End_

* * *

 ** _TMWolf:_** _So more signs are showing, and things are steadily coming to a head! There's still a low point to hit, and hoooooo boy. It's a doozey, but the climax is almost here and then a whole new tone is coming along as we head to the end-game after that! :) So hold tight everyone!_


	19. Ultraviolence

**TMWolf:** _Right, so sorry for the delay! Been like a month, jeez. I got caught up in a lot of stuff including a bathroom remodel that kept going awry at every moment, toilet problems I managed to fix myself until I needed our plumber thanks to the remodel lol, then family business for the holidays so lots of prepping and spending time with them, getting really into video games for a good stretch, and just... yeah. I've been busy, but got the next chapter done! :)_

 _So, per usual, I don't own AC (god, wish I did), but I am using the canon characters as best I can to canon with my own twist! ;)_

 _Thank-you to all my reviewers, too! I love, love, love reading your opinions and answering any questions and also really appreciate y'all catching my mistakes! So don't be shy and please feel free to leave a review *all the hearts*_

 _Okay, now, this chapter from Lana del Rey - Ultraviolence._

 _And lastly: this chapter is, uh, INTENSE. As in like prepare for some crazy f'ed up scenes. Things get... ultra violent. HUE HUE HUE /slaps knee_

* * *

 **19** _\- Ultraviolence_

* * *

 **June 25, 1501**

 **Roma, Italy**

"They're ready."

Ezio frowned, although he trusted Catherine's opinion. She had trained their recruits for months now, and she knew them better than he did despite having become more involved lately. Still, he was reluctant to bring the Assassins-in-training along on their mission—to assault Micheletto's entourage on its way to _Roma_ and bring the bastard down. It wasn't going to be an easy task, unfortunately, even with their numbers. The man controlled a worthy force of soldiers, personally given to him by Cesare to command, and the man himself was a powerful warrior. He'd grown up as most nobles did learning the art of the sword, and he was a cruel man. Honor meant nothing—all that he cared for was taking as much pleasure from the kill as possible. There was no telling if his soldiers would do the same, but they would potentially fight to the death.

It would be their novices' first _real_ fight, too—one where their lives were in true danger. Any one, simple mistake could mean their lives. They had trained to believe as such even when sparring, but real battle was so exceedingly different from the sparring rings in the basement. Both master Assassins knew that all too well, and it was only their years of experience that had kept them alive for so long—that, and relying on one another.

"They're _ready_ ," the redheaded woman pressed, glancing up at her husband when he didn't answer.

At last, he sighed and replied, "I know. I _know_ … I just… God, how did Mario do it?"

"By giving them all he had—including his faith in the skills he gave them. They're ready. They know how to fight, and how to run. We need their help for this, and it's a good opportunity. They'll get a real taste for it," she countered, motioning to their recruits as they danced around one another, trading blows, landing some, and missing others entirely. They were drenched in sweat, covered in bruises, some limbs wrapped in bandages, and all had a similar, vigorous fire in their eyes. They were warriors now. Assassins—ready to serve the people.

"Alright. Alright, alright… let's give them the news. We have to leave tomorrow if we hope to catch Micheletto and his men when they're tired," Ezio rumbled, and Catherine whistled to signal for them to stop. They did at once, though with confused looks as they hurried to stand at rest in a straight line. They stood with their chests and chins raised proudly, arms clasped firmly behind their backs.

"You have trained well and you've trained hard. You have proven yourself worthy of taking one, final step into becoming true Assassins," Catherine began, and she saw the fire glow a little brighter. "Thus far you have only fought with each other, mastering your techniques, but now it's time to put them to the test. One of our targets is returning to _Roma_ , and we aim to cut him off outside the city where he will be most vulnerable. He will not be alone, though; he comes with a small squadron and we aim to meet him with our own—with _you_."

"Indeed," Ezio went on in her place, stepping forward. "It is time for you to witness the true breadth of battle. This will not be a skirmish. This will not be to a yield. This will be a fight to the _death_. The men you are going to face will strike you down if you give them the chance. You must take them out first, but remember: we are Assassins, first and foremost. Whatever grudges you have to the Borgia, leave them here. Kill your enemy but show the dead respect. We do not kill for ourselves—we work in the dark so that others may walk freely in the light. This is our duty, and it is time you become a part of it. After this fight, you will be _Assassins_."

"We are ready, Mentors!" came one shout, and the others shouted their agreement in unison. The two Assassins looked to one another, a small smile creeping on their features.

"Good. Then training ends for today. Eat, heal, prepare your gear, and rest your bodies. We will leave tomorrow afternoon and ride hard to the east. We won't stop until evening, and then we will make our strike at nightfall. We've already scouted our location and will go over the minute details once we arrive. Until then, ready yourselves—in all ways. Do not make this battle your last. _Roma_ needs you alive and well to fight for her. Now, go."

"Yes, Mentor!" the six novices shouted and flooded out of the room.

"Not a bad speech there, 'Mentor'," Catherine mused a bit wryly.

"Still not quite used to the title, but it works… and thank-you. It was the best I could get on the spot… but you're right. They're definitely ready. I just pray it's enough for them all to make it out alive."

"They will, and that man can't escape. I _won't_ let him," the redhead hissed, fingers clenching.

"He won't, but don't forget—," Ezio started, grasping her hands gently. "We do this for _Roma_."

Catherine looked at him sharply, lips pursing together; ready to make some retort. It pained him to know that wasn't her first reason. It ate at him to know the woman who had made him who he was—who had put him on this path to fight for the people, now could not seem to think the same any more. His only respite was that she nodded instead of saying otherwise.

"Come, then. We should rest as well and check our gear," he chuckled, tugging on her fingers. She nodded again, following behind him. All the while, he hated how the silence did not soothe him.

 **-O-**

 **June 26, 1501**

 **Roma, Italy**

The room was dark, the only light coming from the afternoon sun that managed to press through the closed curtains. The only occupant were the furniture and the redheaded woman who sat before the vanity, elbows upon her knees. Her fingers were interlaced together, her chin resting upon them as her eyes stared forward. She wore her gear, tunic, pads both leather and metal, and weapons; she was armed for battle, and in her eyes was a fierce, steeled gaze. They were matched by the dark, empty holes of her wolf hood, the white fur as stained and dirty and matted as ever; always untouched save by the blood of her enemies. It stared unblinking, the eyes long since torn free from battle upon battle, the flesh torn and scarred in places that blades had managed to strike. Yellow fangs protruded down, some cracked, some broken, all fierce and dangerous.

She stared at the mask, her own eyes relentless in their vigil. Her mind was empty and all was quiet—save the whispers. They came to her like a wave, gentle at first; beckoning her closer. They called her further, louder. Another wave, a bigger crash. The cold rush filled her veins, tightening her muscles, yet slowing her heart in the anticipation. She could see it now; the battle ahead.

 _Kill them_.

She saw the bodies clad in red, the ground beneath them painted the same. She saw their blades come close but missing white fur. Weapons clashed, teeth gnashed, and fangs found flesh. It ripped so easily and their screams silenced so quickly. It was not enough. She needed more.

 _Kill them..._

Micheletto appeared, his smirk plastered on his face. He was laughing; mocking her. His hands came for her throat, but she was prepared. She had fangs now. She snarled and clawed and howled and bit his fingers. He still smirked, but his voice was in agony. Then Cesare was there and Lucrezia, too, and all the others. Her enemies. Her prey. They were all there, standing upon the mound of the dead. Ottavio. Federico. Petruccio. Mario. Paula. So many faces, silent, screaming, dead. She hated them. She loathed them. She had to get them. She had to rip their faces off; had to make them suffer as she had.

 _Kill them!_

She obeyed, lunging and biting and ripping flesh. She tasted blood and hungered for more. She needed to do more; to kill more. The ocean of red around her wasn't enough; would never be enough.

 _Kill them! Kill them! KILL THEM!_

She was brought back to the room, to the snarling wolf before her. It drew closer and closer. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. She didn't want to. She did not fear the open jaws, the gaping maw. The feral howl deafening her ears was a lullaby as the wolf's jowls opened wider, the teeth curling around her head. She stared deep into the dark abys, and welcomed it.

 _KILL THEM! KILL THEM KILL THEM KILL THEM KILL THEM KILL THE—_

"Mama?"

The voice knocked her forward, and Catherine sucked in air. The wolf's jaw was gone, replaced by the tattered hood, still in its place upon the mantle. It had never moved, but it left her feeling fuzzy. Empty, too. The rush remained, bringing her heart to race as she turned and found Diana at the door. Uncertainty was in her face, body slightly hidden behind the wood frame. Her gaze fell when her mother's eyes found her, but then looked up again—but only briefly.

"Diana," Catherine replied and waved for her daughter. "Come, what's wrong?"

The redheaded child hesitated before slowly walking over, fingers fumbling with her dress skirt, "Umm… I just… wanted to wish you luck. You're going to go take out a bad guy, right?"

"Yes, that's right," the woman hummed, lips curling into a strange smile as she stroked her daughter's hair gently. "We're going to hunt down one of the men who hurt your Mama. We're going to make him pay. He's going to suffer for what's he's done.

Catherine paused to cup Diana's face gently, firm eyes staring into wavering ones, "And I'm going to make sure he _never_ touches you or anyone ever again. I swear, my little love. You won't have to be afraid anymore. That man is going to die tonight."

The redhead placed a gentle kiss to the girl's brow and then left, walking out into the main hallway and leaving her daughter there. The young girl stood still for a good while, fingers twisting her dress nearly into knots. Her eyes carefully—and slowly—looked to the white wolf mask to her right, but had to look away immediately. Her heart hammered and she moved her feet as quickly as she could out the door and down the stairs into the main area. Her mother was nowhere to be found, and it was, for the most part empty. Her father was there, though, leaning over his work desk. It was to him she went, and when he noticed her presence he turned to her. He smiled at first, but then frowned as he realized the oddness in her expression. He was by her side at once, taking one hand in his as he crouched down.

"Diana, what's wrong?" he asked softly, and as if the final blow, the young girl began to sob. Ezio panicked, pulling her to him and rubbing her back gently. "Diana? Diana, what's wrong? Are you hurt? What's happened?"

"M-mama! Papa—something—something's wrong!" she wailed, choking on her words as the tears flowed freely. Her father meant to say something—meant to tell her it was alright; that everything was okay, but in the end he couldn't. He never wanted to lie to his daughter, and, deep down, he knew if he tried to console her, that it would be a lie.

Something was wrong with Catherine, and Ezio no longer was sure he could help her.

 **-O-**

 **Outskirts of Roma, Italy**

The flicker of torches could be made out in the dark of the night, just barely cresting over the hill in the distance. It would be at least ten more minutes before the group of men were finally within range, and already the Assassins were ready. A quick round of owl-hoots rang out, sounded by Ezio from his position by his wife. A short howl was the reply, signaling they were good to go. The recruits were spaced out in the overlying cliffside mixed with old ruins, safe from sight and crossbow fire. They were close enough to throw knives, though, and strike from above with the Hidden Blade. Though their outfits were white, the moonless night made them near invisible. Only having adjusted their eyesight to the dark let them take note of the dirt road below, and the glow of red marking their targets.

It felt like an eternity before their enemy came into proper view. Micheletto rode at the front on his horse, head high and proud, and looking nonchalant. He appeared completely unaware of his predicament, as did his soldiers. They carried mostly swords and spears as opposed to bows, which was a welcome surprise, but they still had to be careful. All the Borgia rode horses except for two brutes at the rear, which meant they had to take down each steed or at least spook them off, lest their prey be able to run. Then the brutes would have to go first. Despite having more numbers, the soldiers might flee in the chaos, but they suspected Micheletto would stand and fight. He was too proud and confident to run with his tail between his legs.

That was the hope, anyways.

As soon as the first horse came close enough, the daggers flew.

Pained screams echoed through the night as one stallion fell, another bucked his rider and bolted, and others soon followed in suit. In the end, three horses died, some managed to escape with their rider in the madness, and at least five soldiers had been tossed One didn't get up, but the others staggered his way to his feet. The brutes already had their claymore and axe ready, more blades were drawn, and Micheletto somehow looked undamaged as he stood, though kept his sword in his sheath. He frowned in the dimmed light of the torch that had fallen. Soldiers converged around him, searching for their unseen enemy.

"Come out, Assassins! I know you're there," the man bellowed while the men around him fidgeted nervously. There was a bit of satisfaction in that as the Assassins moved in.

Catherine and Ezio had made it clear to their recruits to stay far away from the brutes—they'd never dealt with them, and they were difficult enough to take on even with their experiences—so they went after them instead. The others attacked the regular soldiers as they emerged from their perches, two of them landed down on soldiers, ending their life with a cut to the neck. They danced back into the shadows quickly while Ezio and Catherine duck and dove beneath the brutes' swings. The men grunted with the effort and their slowness gave the redhead the time she needed to get under their guard and shove the blade into the space between the chest and leg armor. Their shock stalled them, allotting her the room to move the blade to the throat, shoving the metal right into the jugular. He choked on his blood as he fell. Ezio's brute followed in suit a moment later, and the two spun on their heels to take in the rest.

Soldiers fell, one by one. Their recruits did splendidly, avoiding blow and making decisive strikes that brought down their enemies and kept them safe. Their training had paid off, and the Assassins formed a ring around their main target. They'd been instructed only to not let him escape—his death would fall to their Mentors.

"I was wondering when we would finally meet, Ezio Auditore," the man hummed as he entered into what light they had. His expression finally faltered, though, when Catherine came up beside him and pulled back her hood. "You _survived_. I admit, I am surpri—."

Before he could say more, her fist rammed into his face. Bones cracked and blood splattered across his tunic as he staggered back a step. He touched at his lip, the soft flesh broken and bleeding along with his nose, and laughed.

"Restrain him. Bring him to his knees," the redhead hissed, and the two Assassins nearest to him, Belloza and Piero, moved forward. The kicked the back of his knee in, forcing him down, and pulled his arms back. He showed no signs of concern, though, but rather grinned as he looked at the master Assassins.

"Finally come for your retribution, Lady Auditore?"

"You are _beaten_ , Micheletto. You will die here," Ezio spoke up, stepping forward and extending his blade.

The man chuckled, almost ruefully, "A battle won, but you foolish Assassins will lose the war. You think yourselves invulnerable. So sure of your loyalties. You do now know the meaning."

"Shut up!" Catherine hissed, but her husband frowned and brought his hand in front of her.

"You are not a man of riddles, Micheletto."

"No, I am not. And you are not a man of wisdom. You must wonder why it was so easy, no?"

Ezio's frowned deepened, heart racing as his mind worked quickly. Now that he thought about it, it _had_ been easy. The man on his knees hadn't even drawn his sword. The soldiers had put up a fight, so that hadn't been a fluke, but why hadn't Micheletto? Did he know it was a losing fight? No, that couldn't be. But why the cryptic message? Why speak of loyalties?

"Do you never wonder how we destroyed your home so easily? How we knew every one of your secrets? How we bested your precious commander, Mario?" the man hummed.

Catherine snarled as she struck him across the face again, " _Shut up!_ You will _not_ speak his name you fucking piece of shit!"

"Catherine, enough!" Ezio barked, earning a look of surprise. Before she could go on, he looked to the recruits. "Get your horses and whatever extra you can find. You two, take his weapons and get your mounts as well. We're bringing him back with us."

The recruits holding Micheletto nodded, took the man's blade, and hurried off, leaving the Master Assassins with him. They'd kept the horses further off to avoid the noise, so it would be a minute or two before they returned. Ezio glanced around, noting one of the Borgia's mounts wasn't too far off, looking to be in good health. He touched Catherine's arm gently.

Accusation was in her eyes, "Why?"

"He _knows_ something. We need to question him before he dies."

Ezio knew she wanted to refute him; wanted to make the blow, but she managed to refrain—just barely. She was dying for the kill, and it made his heart ache. Still, there was a small flicker of hope in how she held back, though glared daggers at the man on his knees. He glanced to the horse, which hadn't bolted yet.

"I'll be right back," he murmured, and made his way for the stallion. Catherine, meanwhile, refused to move her gaze from their prey, whom regarded her for a moment. When he smiled, blood was smeared across his teeth.

"I had thought the Followers would have had killed you by now—having had their fun," he hummed, almost at a purr. Catherine's fingers twitched, lips pressing together. "But I misjudged you, it seems. You are more tenacious than we thought. Cesare was so sure he'd gotten rid of you. A pity…. I would have enjoyed your screams… Ah, but it has been you then—the one thinning the herds, no? We heard rumors of you. A she-bitch killing the wolves. Come for her vengeance. They took her dignity so she took their—."

Another punch. Another splatter of blood. The blow knocked him back onto his rear, arm braced on the ground as he spat out a glob of red.

"Come now, surely you can do better. At this rate you have barely done more than your commander, and look where he ended up," Micheletto went on. "Shame he was not any smarter than you fools—thinking everyone is so loyal to you… yet your people are so easily bought. Pathetic."

"Shut _up!_ " she snapped, striking again, and this time a cut opened on his nose. Again, he laughed, lying flat on his back now as she stood over him.

"You lack finesse, she-bitch. Tell me, do you miss your child? Your little boy?" he crowed, and when her face went pale, he chuckled. "He's doing quite well, you know. Lucrezia sees to him every day; makes sure he will grow into a strong Borgia as he keeps to her breast.

She hit him again, and he only spat the blood out, grinning like a mad dog, "They named him Rodrigo, you know? After his grandfather. He'll grow up never knowing you, except as the enemy. He'll cheer when he sees your heads upon the ramparts."

Catherine did not punch him this time. She did not respond with snarls. Her eyes stared, unblinking, as her hands shook with rage. The fire within her grew unmanageable, and the whispers screamed in her mind. The fangs wrapped around her, threatening to clamp shut. Her breathing was shallow and slow, and her body moved closer. Arms extended out, reaching, and the man watched her closely. When he found her gaze and looked—really looked, he let out a laugh.

"Ah, and here I thought we were so different," he spoke as her fingers found his throat. He laughed even as she squeezed. He didn't fight it. He only laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed until he could not muster the breath. Her fingers squeezed tighter and tighter, eyes frozen upon his face as he began to struggle. His hands reached for hers instinctively, but her grip was firm and she ignored his groping at her face. The whispers came faster and louder and the world was silent as she watched his eyes bulge, felt his body squirm beneath her. He was dying. She could feel it. The very life was leaving him as she squeezed his throat tighter and tighter. Blood gurgled from his mouth, and a dark satisfaction filled her as she saw him pale; saw the irises begin to roll back.

" _Catherine!"_ a voice shouted, and suddenly she was thrown back. She stumbled but managed to catch herself before she fell. Fire still flowed through her veins, but the look of horror, shame, and so much more gave her pause. Worst still, was the realization the emotions were all swirling in the eyes of her husband, who struggled for the words. Behind him, Micheletto coughed and hacked, sucking in much needed air. His tunic' collar hid his bruises, but his eyes were nearly as red as the blood in his mouth. He vomited the same color as he turned over onto his knees, still struggling to breathe.

"Why—why did you stop me!?" she rasped, the fangs leaving, but trying desperately to stay.

"Why?! Catherine, we need him alive! And that's not our way! We don't torture our targets! We—"

"Mentor, look!" Giotto shouted as he came up, horse's reigns in one hand, the other pointing to the hill their target had come over before. Torches were appearing, one by one, and in greater numbers. Soldiers. Many of them. Too many. Ezio cursed, and then cursed again when the same recruit suddenly yelped. The Assassin turned to find a dagger sticking into the recruit's leg, placed there by Micheletto whom had staggered up and away some. He was still pale and struggling but had his back to the incoming soldiers.

"I-I t-told you, A-assassin. A battle w-won. N-not w-war. W-we know—e-everything," he coughed and hacked, and Ezio's fear grew tenfold. He spun to his incoming recruits, whom had their mounts while Giotta pulled the dagger free. He hissed in pain but forced himself into the saddle.

"Fuck! Everyone, retreat! Go! Go! Get back to _Roma_!" he howled, and they did as told. It was just in time, as the soldiers on horses that arrived were coming too close for comfort. Ezio mounted and held his arm for Catherine to grab. She did so after a moment's hesitation to stare at Micheletto's grinning face. Once secured in the saddle, he spurred the horse in a fierce gallop.

He didn't dare look back as he and his recruits vanished into the night. He did not worry for them—save for Giotto and his wound—as they knew what to do. They would each find their own safe place to hide, and once the coast was clear, they would return to the hideout. It was the best way to protect the Order and their brothers and sisters, although, Micheletto's words struck the Assassin to the core. He had _known_ they would come tonight. Oh, he hadn't said it outright, but Ezio knew. The Borgia knew they would be coming, which meant they did, without doubt now, have a traitor—perhaps even before the fall of _Monteriggioni_. The notion struck him to the core, and his stomach sank further than he thought possible. It was, truly, becoming too much. Worse still, the image of his wife, _strangling_ a man—it made the bile rise in his throat.

The image didn't leave him as the horse slowed, its energy spent. They weren't far from _Roma_ , but plenty far enough away from their enemies that the Assassin dismounted and paced away from the mount as it breathed heavily. He heard the redhead follow in suit, and he couldn't stop himself from turning towards her, his anger palpable.

"What the hell was that!? What were you thinking!?" he snapped, throwing his hands in the air.

She came at him with fire of her own, " _Me?!_ What were _you_ thinking! You should have let me kill him! I almost did it! I almost killed that _bastard_!"

"We needed him alive! He knew things—about what's going on in the Order! We have a traitor among us and he _knew_! And even then why would you _strangle_ him!? That isn't our way! We're better than that!"

"It doesn't matter what he knew, he needed to die! They all need to die! I have to kill them! He—God, he talked about my boy—our _son_! He talked about him! Taunted me with him!" she howled, grasping at her head, eyes wild now. "That fucking _bitch_ has him! She's coddling him like her own and that fucking bastard Cesare he—he's raising him as his own! They took him! They took our son! Our Mario! They have him!

Her eyes were raging with fire as she turned to her husband, "You should have let me kill him!"

"Not like that, Catherine! _Never_ like that! It _can't_ be for revenge!" he rasped, reaching forward, but she pulled away.

"It _has_ to be like that! They have our son, Ezio! My _baby_! They took him—they took _everything_ from me, and I am doing _everything_ it takes to get him back! If it means using my bare hands to kill them, then I will! I will hunt down every single one of them and kill all those fucking Borgia dogs. I will turn _Roma_ red with their blood if that's what it takes to get my boy back and make them _suffer_ for it—for _everything_!" she howled, and if Ezio had managed to summon any hope for his wife, it shattered. This creature before him was not the woman he loved. This wasn't Catherine. This was something else. Some malformed beast consumed by despair and hate. This _wasn't_ Catherine. It couldn't be.

"You don't mean that," he rasped, the words nearly catching in his throat. When she didn't answer, he spoke again. "You _don't_ mean that. Don't you see what you've become!? You're consumed with revenge! You're worrying everyone and frightening Diana! Your own _daughter_! You brought her to tears, dammit! You have to stop this!"

Catherine's shoulders lifted as if she to shout back at him, but when he spoke of their child she shrunk back, as if struck. The fire hadn't been doused, however, but she no longer met his eyes.

"I have to get him back. I have to. And they have to pay," she barked, but her voice sounded weaker; her energy spent. "Either help me, or get out of my way."

Ezio couldn't speak. He didn't know _how_ to—didn't know what to say. What _could_ he say to her? That he would help her with this? That he would condone slaughtering mindlessly for revenge? He wanted his son back. He did. He longed for the day to have the boy in his arms and to put an end to the tyranny of the man who had nearly destroyed everything—but there was so much at stake. He wanted his child back, but the city was on the line as well. He could not put one life over so many, even if it was his own flesh and blood. He couldn't let himself become his enemies, either; he couldn't debase himself and mar what the Assassins were.

He was stuck, frozen to his spot. He could not move forward; could not go back. He didn't want to push her away—to lose the love of his life _again_. But what could he do?

He had no answer, and she saw it.

Catherine opened her mouth to speak, but changed her mind. Her lips sealed shut. She turned back to their mount and shoved her boot into the saddle to swing up. She met his gaze one last time, her anger now mixed with a kind of sorrow, then spurred the horse into a canter. She left him there, and Ezio didn't move for the longest while. Too much weighed him down, and when he did finally lift his feet to move, each step was agony. He barely registered where he went, only that he was returning to the city. His mind was clouded with so much, he couldn't recall how he made it to the stone streets, pressing through the small remnants of people leaving for their homes to sleep before the dawn came. He didn't even notice when he'd knocked on the back door to the grand villa or when he'd made it to the back room. Reality only crashed down when two gentle, warn hands touched his face. He blinked, slowly, and found his mother there, face full of worry. It was too much then, and all the torrent of emotions came out in a short sob.

He did not cry for long, but it was enough for his mother to embrace him tight, kissing his brow, and cooing to him gently as he shuddered and shook and wept for all that had happened. He did not speak for a long while, trying to work through it all, and though no more tears came after the initial burst, he felt ready to fall apart every moment.

"Ezio?" Maria called softly, taking her hand in his. She rubbed the back of it gently with her thumb and brushed his hair back—not unlike when he was a child. He did not meet her gaze, but he did look up, staring at nothing in particular.

"I'm losing her, Mother… Catherine… she… I'm not even sure I ever had her back anymore," he croaked and pressed his face into his hands. "She's… I don't know what to do. I don't know how to save her. I don't know how to _fix_ this. It's so much. I want to save her, but I can't do it without giving into the madness. I _can't_. There's… there's so much more to all this. But—but I want to help her. But she wants revenge more than anything. I want it, too, but not as the risk of destroying _everything_. And I fear—I'm afraid that's what it would cost if… if we don't do it right. If we just kill blindly—if we just cut them down… when would it stop? How much blood will we spill before she's satisfied? I just—I _can't_ do that to myself or to her. I can't do that to the Order. We have to be _more_. _I_ have to be more. This city needs us, but she needs _me_. Or—or I don't… I don't know. I don't _know_."

Maria took her time responding, keeping her son's head against her breast as she soothed him as best she could. It was not easy, to see her son so distraught. He was always so strong—just like his father. He kept so much of the burden and loved so deeply. It made her own heart ache to see him this way—to see them _both_ this way. It was a struggle no man or woman should face. Yet they did, and she only hoped she had the wisdom to help it.

"Ezio… do you… remember when we lost your father and brothers?" she began, and he looked up at her, brows scrunched slightly.

"Yes, I do… you were… we feared you had lost your soul."

"Because I nearly did, my son," she smiled softly. "The loss of Giovanni and my boys—your brothers, nearly broke me. I was so lost in those days—those years. I did not know how to live without him. I had been with him for so long, and to have my sons—my _children—_ taken from me so violently… it was too much. I did not know how to save myself, and neither did _you_ know how to save me… but you did not give up on me. You kept searching and searching until—at long last—you found the key to healing the wound in my heart. The feathers. You remember?"

A small smile appeared on his face, "I do. They reminded me of Petruccio… and you smiled when I brought them to you. Feathers won't heal Catherine."

"No… no, they will not, but my point is… you need to find out what _will_ save her… and it will not be vengeance. You and I both know this to be true. Vengeance only poisons the wound. Makes it fester and swell and drive one to madness. You must find what was taken from her—what broke her so deeply to infect her so… and you must give it to her."

Ezio squeezed his mother's hands, thinking deeply, "I.. it… ah… our son. It's… it's been about him—our boy."

"A mother's love is deep. This I know all too well. You must help her get your child back," Maria nodded.

"But… but what if… what if that's not enough? What if we get him back and… and…"

"Do not do that to yourself, my son. Do not doubt. Only, do not give up on her—she needs you now more than ever. She will push and fight it, but she _needs_ you—just as I needed you."

"God, I fear so much for her, Mother. I don't want to lose her again. Diana can't lose her again."

"I will pray for you my son… and wish I could more. I fear all I have is my wisdom," the older woman spoke softly, her smile weak and sorrowful. He returned it with a small, gentle one, and kissed her cheek.

"You do more than enough for me, Mother. It is just… a great deal to endure."

"Then stay as long as you wish—you need not shoulder it alo—," she replied, only to be cut off as the door to the secret room opened, revealing a young courtesan.

"Madame, Sir Auditore has a visitor—it is a thief, sent by _La Volpe_. He says it is urgent."

Ezio and Maria looked at once another for a moment, then his mother pat his hand gently, "Go on. Perhaps it is something good. Come to me whenever you need, I will ensure you have a safe place to be."

"Thank-you, Mother. I love you," he replied softly, kissing her cheek again, and quickly followed the young courtesan to the back door. There he found, indeed, a thief, whom was flirting with another girl. He straightened at once when he spotted the Assassin, though, and motion for him to follow. Ezio raised a brow, steeling his emotions once more, "What is urgent news?"

"Well, we actually found out this afternoon, but you were gone so we didn't get to you for a while there, but once we saw you come walking back in here—."

"The _news_?" he pressed, and the thief chuckled.

"Sorry, but don't worry, it's worth the interruption. You remember how you wanted us to find you a way into the _Castelo?_ "

His heart raced, "Yes?"

The thief smirked, "Guess who found you a way in."

 **-O-**

 _He's against you. He's like the others_.

"No—no, he's Ezio's, he's not," Catherine rasped, pacing the floor of her room. On the vanity, the wolf mask sat on its mantle, unmoving and silent. The whispers continued.

 _He doesn't want to kill them. He's against you. He's like the others_.

No. That wasn't right. Ezio was on her side. He loved her. He wasn't against her. He wanted to get revenge, too. He wanted to get their son back.

 _He stopped you. That man lives. He's against you. He's like the others_.

No! Ezio did it for a reason. He would only do it for a _good_ reason. Catherine knew it was true, even as her fingers dug into her hair, trying to reach the skin beneath. Her skull hurt, and her heart pounded too loudly. The whispers only made it worse.

 _Het stopped you. He got in your way. He's against you. He's like the others_.

"No!" she hissed. "He's not! He had reason! He—."

 _He's like them. He's against you._

"No!" she snapped, turning to face the mask. It remained where it was. For all her denial, though, the burn remained. The scalding heat of Ezio's supposed betrayal. He'd let Micheletto get away, but she forced herself to remember why. He'd _known_ something—something important.

 _He needed to die._

He did. God, he did. He should have died. She was so close. She felt him _dying_. Her hands were about to _break_ him. He was going to bleed for her. She was going to have the first taste of her vengeance, but it was gone. Micheletto was gone. It wasn't enough, though. She _needed_ it.

But Ezio wasn't against her. That was certain. The whispers relented in this, as they spoke again.

 _You have to kill them. Kill them. KILL THEM._

Them. Yes, she would kill them.

Ezio wouldn't, but he was still with her. He was on her side. He wanted their son back. Maybe he didn't want to kill them—not anymore. But she could do it. She would kill them. She'd swore it. She _had_ to kill them. She had to. She couldn't be satisfied until she slit their throats. She'd get her vengeance and she'd save her son from them. She'd get him back, and she'd swim through the rivers of their blood.

But not yet.

It wasn't time.

But she'd been denied her prey tonight, and there was still blood to be spilled. The wolf's hunger was not abated.

 _Kill them_.

Yes.

 _Kill them_.

The wolf's mouth opened, and Catherine welcomed it. She pulled the hood from its mantle and slipped it over her head. She breathed in the stench, the smell of death and the hunt. It filled her, brought her back to the tunnels. Ah, yes. That sweet darkness she'd flourished in; where she'd had the first taste of it all.

Her true enemies were still out of reach, but the wolf needed to feed, and she had unfinished business in the dark.

It took a moment for the beast to consume her, and, with a slow release of air, she opened her eyes, and was Catherine no longer. She was _la Lupe_ , and it was time to hunt. Escaping into the cool air was easy enough. Finding the gateway to the darkness below was even easier. She knew where all of them were and knew their walls even better. She was moving swiftly even before her eyes adjusted, and prey was abundant. They had not forgotten her, their screams and howls of despair echoing through the dark chambers. She either found them or they came to her. Regardless, she cut them down, but it did not sate her. She needed more and more and more. Her belly was deep and infinite, and no amount of blood could quell the hunger.

It did swell, though, as she came upon a different kind of prey. One she'd encountered before—one that had escaped. A sheep in wolf's cloth, pretending to be big and proud, but once her fangs bared they squealed and ran like a pig. Their feet raced and raced, but she never lost the trail, never lost the scent. She kept on their heels, nipping and snarling and biting; teasing and letting the lust grow. Only when the walls went no further—only when her prey had reached the end of their flight and hope was gone, flickering into nothing like the flame of the torch they'd dropped into the water—did her rage release.

Metal found flesh, but one blow was not enough. The pig screamed and squealed but it did not soothe her ears. She needed more, thrusting the blade again and again and again and again and again and again. Blood sprayed and splattered, and the screams, feral and wild and full of everything, never stopped.

It was only later, when the hunger ebbed and the body beneath her was still, that Catherine realized she was the one screaming.

* * *

 **19** _– End_

* * *

 ** _TMWolf:_** _So. Like I said._

 _Intense. :'D_

 _Catherine is a lil' crazy, just so we're clear. There's been a LOT of signs to this, though, and it's all been building since her trauma way back when. She has not gotten the proper help she needs, which is even harder to get in this time, and, well, she's a highly skilled and trained killer. You mix crazy with that, and, well... this happens._

 _Will she get better?_

 _Guess we'll find out X)_

 _P.S. This was a fun chapter to write lmao_


	20. Nadir

**TMWolf:** _Hoooo boy this chapter was a doozey. Not just writing it, either-editing it, too! I bet I still have a ton of mistakes haha. But this is a maaajor chapter and kinda the "main" climax of the story although there's a kind of mini one at the end, too. But, yeah. So! Got another chapter written in good time, so yay for y'all! Didn't have to wait as long this time, hehe._

 _As always, I don't own the canon, but do my best to stay true to it while writing my own thing :)_

 _And also as always, thank-you so much for all your support and reviews! I'm so glad you're all enjoying this crazy ride and keeping me going with your kind words *all the love*_

 _So. This chapter's title is from the game Journey - Nadir. It was a PSN exclusive, but an amazingly beautiful game. I highly recommend it and the soundtrack! The title also, for once, fits the chapter haha xD_

 _Now onto the story climax!_

* * *

 **20** \- _Nadir_

* * *

 **June 30, 1501**

 **Roma, Italy**

It was nearly dawn when Ezio returned to the hideout. He'd seen a few of the recruits doing the same, all of them doing well. Only Piero and Giotto were missing, the two Assassins having banded together and sought a doctor to heal his wound. He was assured the man would survive, though, and ordered the others to lay low—until their next move. There was an exchange of curious looks, but they thankfully obeyed, and the Master Assassin was left to ascend the stairs to the rooms above. He paused at Diana's, peeking in to make sure she was still sound asleep. Thankfully, she was, and he let his heart rest easy—at least, until he noticed red on the door. Panic seized him, and it took effort to not break the door down to rush to his daughter's side.

To his relief, she was unharmed. Nary a scratch in her blissful slumber. There were no other spots of blood, either—only on the door, by the handle. He frowned, knowing there was no way anyone would have gotten in so easily. They had too many eyes, and Bartolomeo had graciously given them guards in the main foyer just in case. No trespasser had come in here. So, then who was it from? Surely not the other Assassins, they didn't know Diana that well and only Giotto was wounded enough, and he wasn't here.

Ezio used his Vision as he stepped outside his daughter's room and noted there were small flecks going from below to higher up—towards his room. His frown deepened, and his chest hitched.

Catherine.

His gut was sure of it, and he didn't know what he was more worried for: that she was hurt, or that she'd hurt someone. It was a strange and terrible thing to think about his wife, but he was no longer sure _what_ to think about her. He kept his mother's advice close, but doubt was even closer along with fear and terror and sorrow. Was his wife still there, deep beneath the madness? Or had she lost herself in it, and she was something else entirely now? It made his steps heavy as he realized how hard it was to believe in the former. Yet, how could he not after what happened? After everything? He had denied it all this time, but he could do so no longer. His wife had suffered so great at the hand of the Borgia, and because he could not save her, she had lost herself. And because of that same weakness, he might not be able to find her again.

But until that reality became final, he would try. For all his doubt, he _would_ fight for her. No matter how much doubt and worry plagued him, he couldn't give up. _She_ never gave up on him. He couldn't dare call himself her husband if he didn't do the same.

Ezio held his breath as he reached his door, hand lingering on the handle. He closed his eyes, steeling himself for a moment, and pushed the door open slowly. It creaked softly as it did so and revealed a dark room. The sun hadn't risen, leaving the only light the twinkling of the stars in the night sky beyond the window. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, though, and first he saw the mask upon the vanity—the white wolf. Only, there were dark stains on it, making the fur look black. He repressed a chill at the sight of it, having wished to be rid of it from the first day, but he'd relented to Catherine's whim to keep it. He looked to his wife instead, who sat on her side of the bed, facing the window. Her head was lowered, gaze fixed on her upturned palms as her arms rested on her legs.

They were covered in blood.

Ezio felt cold as he forced his legs to move, inching his way over to her. She didn't look up at him; didn't even more. Her gaze remained on her palms even when he sat down beside her and realized there was blood on her clothes, too. A lot of it. She smelled like death. His doubts and fears ignited, and he feared he was too late all over again. After all, how could this creature here, so quiet and still she might have been dead herself, be his wife?

It took a long while before he could muster his words, "Catherine… are you… are you alright?"

It had been a whisper so soft he was surprised she heard, but she inhaled deeply, as if taking her first gasp of air. Her fingers twitched but didn't clench. Her eyes closed, then opened to glance at him, then back at her hands.

"It's not mine," she replied, voice as quiet as his—and weak. "I… went out. Hunted. I went after the Followers. I went into one of their lairs. I killed them. A lot of them. Then… I saw him—that man. He was a leader of the Followers. With the mask. The one who tossed me to them and left me to die."

Ezio looked sharply to her, heart beating fast. He recalled the night she'd returned to him—the moment they'd finally were able to lie down by each other again. She'd spoken of it; of being thrown to the wolves. He'd sensed the hate and loathing then. He could only imagine what finding that fucking bastard had stirred in her.

Yet, her voice didn't hold it—that anger. It was something else.

"I killed him, too. He ran, but I caught him… and I stabbed him. Again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And _again_. I finally made him suffer. He died knowing it was _me_. I finally got him after all this time. He's dead. Dead, dead, dead, _dead_."

"Did…" Ezio began, reaching towards her, but hesitated. His gaze fell to her hands, which trembled now. He looked back to her face and couldn't read her expression. His gut twisted as he asked for an answer he wasn't sure he wanted. "Did it… help?"

Catherine didn't answer at first, her breathing slow and shaky. Her shoulders slumped and when she breathed in, it sounded like a struggle, the words coming out in an agonized croak.

" _No_ —or… I don't know. I hate him. _Hated_ him. I wanted to kill him. I wanted it so bad. Now I feel… I feel…," she began, closing her eyes and clenched her hands. " _Empty_.

She paused again to bring her hands to her face, dragging her fingers down one side and up the other and through her hair, "It wasn't _enough_. I don't feel _anything_ after it. There's _nothing_. They're still so loud, though. They want more. I want more. But it did _nothing_. I don't know what to do."

The madness was so clear. Who were 'they'? Why were they so loud? Ezio couldn't fathom it—couldn't even begin to wrap his mind around it. He only knew this was the true depth of the sickness plaguing her, and from it he was at least certain of a few things. Firstly, was that vengeance could not assuage her. Secondly, if it was not vengeance, then perhaps it really was their son she needed. The missing piece of it all.

And that gave him hope.

Perhaps his wife wasn't fully lost. She was still in there—fighting this; trying to come back. She _wanted_ to be whole again but didn't know how; only that vengeance wasn't it. Or rather, she was beginning to realize it when it was all she'd had.

They could fix this. They had to.

"Catherine," he called softly, taking her hand from her face into his, squeezing gently. She looked to him, eyes wide and so unsure. " _La Volpe_ 's thieved came to me not long ago. They found a way in."

Her eyes widened a bit more, then suddenly became focused. A calculated expression overcame her features, and he was reminded of a predator on the prowl.

"Where? _When_?"

Ezio breathed in deeply as he considered his words carefully, "Catherine, I need you to listen closely: this is meant to be rescue—of our son _and_ Caterina. But… both Rodrigo and Cesare _might_ be there… and if they are, we will kill them. But _only_ them. You cannot raise your blade to anyone else. We target no one else. Do you understand?

When she didn't answer right away, her lips pressed together tight, he pressed on, "Catherine. Promise me—promise me you won't kill anyone unless it's Cesare or Rodrigo. You can't do what you did back there—with that Micheletto. And the Templar woman. You can't become that again. That's not who _we_ are. That's not who _you_ are. We have to be better than them. We have to fight for something more than ourselves. We can't become them. We can't lose our way."

"What about guards?" she hissed, but there was little fire behind it.

" _If_ they try to stop us, then we do what we must. But it will be done proper. It will be done quick. We do not _torture_ our targets. Give them peace, and no more. We must give the same to Cesare and Rodrigo—we _must_. We can't linger for more or cause a commotion. Too much is on the line. We have to get our son and Caterina out safely. This is our _only_ chance. We won't get it again. Now, please… Catherine, _promise_ me."

He couldn't let her go down that path.

"I… okay," she responded, and he had to blink, surprised. It had come quicker than he thought, and he almost thought he was hearing things, but he hadn't been fooled. She'd agreed to it.

"I'll… I won't kill anyone—except Cesare or Rodrigo. If I see them I'll…," she went on, breathing become slow and shallow.

"We need to find Caterina and our son first. We don't know where they are exactly," Ezio spoke up quickly, to which she frowned. He reached up, cupping her cheek. She looked to him, and he swore he saw a glimmer of the woman he knew. "We'll get him back. I promised, and now we can do it. And then we can put an end to Cesare and the Borgia. We'll end this."

"Yes… finally," she breathed and squeezed the hand he still held. "When?"

This time, he relented, "In three days. He won't know we're coming. Not this time. _La Volpe_ only told myself and his messenger."

"Good," the redhead murmured, and suddenly pulled away from him. He watched her, somewhat perplexed. She looked to him, then her hand. "I need to wash it off. I want Cesare to see me clearly when I cut his throat."

Ezio watched her go from him to the tub but looked away to lie down on the bed as she bathed. All the while, he prayed this was the right choice.

 **-O-**

 **June 30, 1501**

 **Roma, Italy**

A crowd was gathered before the bridge leading to the _Vaticano_ district—and the _Castel_. It was of moderate size, but mostly of nobles. No lower class had the time to watch the forthcoming display; none cared that the great Caterina Sforza, now naught but a prisoner, was going to be paraded down the cobblestones to her new prison. The higher ups, though, would revel in it, regardless if they approved or not. So long as it meant a show and they could join in the gaiety of the moment, cheering with their brethren and jeering their hated "enemy"—sharing in the spoils of the hunt. Such was the lull of the drink of victory.

But not all that gathered partook. Along the edges of the crowd, armed mercenaries stood at attention, but not _too_ attentively. They lounged against walls, yawned here and there, and preened over weapons and armor. They had to look the part and they did it well. Likewise, courtesans danced and trilled, flaunting their breasts and succulent gifts in hopes of enticing any lucky—or perhaps unlucky— patron. That, and they might serve to cover the tracks of their allies; their Assassins.

The white-robed group was situated atop the roof tops, overlooking things. It would still be some time before Caterina arrived, and so Ezio and Catherine had brought their recruits to scope it out. They were short a man, but the mission would only call for the two Masters. It was too risky for their Brothers and Sisters, although they were now full-fledged assassins themselves. It would be easier with two moving, anyways, and their students could serve as cover on the way out. After all, there was no way they could escape the same way they were going in. Caterina could not climb as they did, and the child would make it cumbersome. And if their targets were there—if Borgia blood was spilled as the sun set in the distance, then _Roma_ would be up in arms. Their remaining loyalists would take to the streets with their guards, and it could come to war, but the hope was that their own loyal allies could quell the flames.

The aftermath, they left for Machiavelli, though. The nobleman had not been pleased of the prospect of the mission focusing more on rescue, despite knowing the urgency. He was not unknown to the love of a child, having become fond of Diana, and he understood the logic of Caterina being an ally, and so helping her now would provide boons in the future. Yet, he was reluctant to put it above killing Rodrigo and Cesare, even if only for a moment. He relented, however, when the two Assassins swore to kill the men—first, if they could.

And now they waited.

It was agonizing, remaining up on the roofs, keeping silent as the heat bore down on them, although it was beginning to cool overall. Their Brothers and Sisters were anxious as well, eager to do more work after their first _real_ mission, even if it had ended unexpectedly and not particularly in their favor. Ezio was also glad they bore no ill will towards his wife, whom he glanced at carefully.

Her face was stoic; impassive, really. He couldn't read it, and so he prayed she would keep her word. He'd made sure she wore only Assassin garbs, her new robes carrying a whiter and redder scheme as opposed to the blue, although he thought the latter suited her better. Regardless, it was, by far, countless times better than the wolf mask which sent shivers down his spine whenever he laid eyes upon it now. The thing was a curse, one he hoped might be lifted. Once they had their son, it might all be enough to bring his wife back.

"Movement—down the street," Alessandra spoke up, and all eyes moved. Sure enough, a carriage adorned in Borgia ornaments and colors and driven by their guards came rolling in. It wasn't Cesare's cart, unfortunately, but he had been seen within the city. He was most likely already within the _Castel_ , so they would get to him eventually. For now, the Assassins focused on the carriage as it stopped before the bridge, and from it came the unexpected appearance of Lucrezia Borgia. Ezio felt Catherine shift beside him, her breath hitching, and eyes going wide. She was one of the ones who'd hurt his wife. She was also the one raising their son. She would know where he was, if she wasn't with him when they found either of the two.

"Hail citizen of _Roma_!" Lucrezia spoke, her voice booming in a surprising way. She held her head high, swaying her hips just so. It drew the crowd in as much as her voice and her prisoner, held by two guards. "Behold a sight most splendid! Caterina Sforza—she-whore of Forli—has at last been brought to heel!"

"Ha! No one kneels as low as Lucrezia Borgia! Who put you up to this? Was it your brother or your father? Perhaps a bit of both? Perhaps at the same time!" Caterina barked back, a spitfire despite her situation. It was admirable in a way, as was how gracefully she took the backhanded slap to her face from the Borgia noblewoman.

"Shut your mouth! None speak ill of the Borgia!" the blonde-haired woman snapped, and turned her cold glare on the crowd, which had quieted down. "The same will happen to any who defy us!"

"Good people of _Roma_ , stay strong!" the red-haired woman cried out as the guards began to drag her towards the bridge. "You will be free, your time will come, I swear it!"

She could resist no longer then, and the two men holding her yanked her backwards. She nearly tripped, but kept on her feet—bare feet, in fact. They looked dirty and might have even had sores or bled at some point. There was no telling from here, and soon she would be out of sight. Lucrezia was already gone, having slipped back into her carriage. She did not walk but rode back to the _Castel_ while Caterina was left on display for all the cardinals, guards, and nobles to jeer and laugh at, pointing and condemning her when she was, perhaps, their best ally.

"We can't follow them on the bridge," Catherine growled, noting the high number of well-armed men at each pillar. There were more still in the actual district, and they were even more highly trained. Worse still were the Papal guards—men who had trained for years upon years. They would be the most dangerous opponents to look out for, besides Cesare himself.

"We won't need to. Look—see the sections in the water? We can pass them and head to the side where the fence is being repaired. Just like _La Volpe_ said," Ezio replied, gesturing so she could follow. He turned to the other Assassins. "We're going in. Remain here. We'll need you to cover our escape. You have everything you need?"

It was Jacopo who answered, "Yes, Mentor. Knives, smoke bombs, Blades, and swords. We're ready. The Mercenaries and Courtesans are ready, too. We've got your backs. Get your son and get that son of a bitch Cesare."

Ezio grinned at the man then looked to his wife, who nodded in acknowledgement. The crowd dispersed while the guards remained on the bridge. The Assassins moved out, the former recruits spreading across the rooftops to cover any and all angles—and perhaps get rid of an archer that might prove problematic—while the two master descended to the streets. There they quickly blended into the crowd, mingling their way to the riverside where they descended further to the water below. It was easy enough vaulting from stone block to block, and the tricky part only came as they met an array of poles, which served as their only means of crossing further. They waited to make sure no guards were happening to look over the bridge and began the arduous and careful hop from pole to pole until they reached the _Castelo's_ walls. They quickly hid behind the brick siding, keeping out of the watchful eye of a pike man on the other side. The metal railing that would normally keep them out was gone for the repairs, making it an easy leap over.

"I'll get them. Cover me, though," he spoke softly, and while Catherine frowned unhappily, she relented. He couldn't help noticing she sheathed her Blade, having drawn it in the first place, but let it slide as he waited one second, two, and then made his move.

The guard didn't see him, nor his Blade, which pressed into his throat, silencing any shouts as he died, almost instantly. The Assassin moved quickly, muttering a quick "rest in peace" as he went, and took out the next guard relatively fast. The last finally took notice of his comrades falling, but he was stopped short of making a cry for help with a knife to his head. Another hit his chest, at the heart, and he went down. His work done, Ezio signaled for Catherine to come forth while he scouted around and found a ladder to take them to the higher walls. It was the only way to go, the main door locked tight and the windows either unreachable or also sealed. They ascended quickly, pausing at first to scan their surroundings again before moving once more, but then they heard a voice—a familiar one.

Catherine's skin crawled and her hair rose. She knew that voice.

"Cesare," she breathed, and the two ventured close to the decadent, iron rails that blocked them from vaulting the ledge, but gave them a clear view. Sure enough, Cesare Borgia was below them in the courtyard, but he was not alone. Micheletto was with him, his face quite the mess—a variety of shades of blue and purple, and parts of it swollen. He held himself well despite the marred visage. Beside him was the man Ezio had come to know to be Octavian de Valois, the one leading the French Armies. There was also a man in red robes with a white tunic underneath—a cardinal. He didn't quite know who he was, but he was Borgia. Catherine recalled such a man at the fall of her home, too, and that meant he would die as well.

"Forget the Pope, you answer to me. _Roma_ is the pillar that holds our entire enterprise aloft. She cannot waver. Which means, neither can you," Cesare told them, his voice firm. Catherine suspected his gaze was like-wise, and she would have liked to rip the expression off his face.

"What of the Vatican?" the Frenchman inquired.

Their leader scoffed, "That tired old men's club? Play along for now, but soon we will have no need of them. Now, I must go and see to things before I head out once more. Bringing the rest of _Italia_ to its knees leaves little time for some luxuries after all."

The Cardinal bowed his head as Cesare turned and left, and then chuckled wryly, "He's left us _Roma_."

"She'll be in good hands," Octavian snickered, his mustache quirking upwards with his lip.

"Just remember who she belongs to, Valois," Micheletto growled softly, but his target gestured uncaringly with his hand.

"You need not worry—Cesare will rule when it is done. Although, whether _you_ will serve him I cannot say."

The Borgia dog snarled, "What was that?"

"What?" the Frenchman shrugged, not bothering to hide the mock in his tone. "You were the one beaten to a pulp by the Assassins and came running back, tail between your legs. You even had the _advantage_."

"You would know about tucking your tail—you Frenchman love running. Cannot see sacrifice and strategy when you do not know the meaning, either," Micheletto spat back, and his opponent stepped towards him, cursing loudly. He only got a foot near when the Cardinal brought his arm between them, stopping the conflict.

"Now, now, my Lords. We must not fight amongst ourselves. Not when the Assassins linger. Micheletto did as was needed of him, even if we did not achieve our desired goal. We have an understanding of our enemy now, though, so it was not a total failure. Regardless, we made our play, now we must hold onto _Roma_ while Cesare makes his. If _Roma_ is to be strong, we, as her protectors, must be even stronger, no?" he spoke calmly—almost sickeningly sweet. It worked, though, and the two men calmed.

"Yes… let the Assassins fight amongst themselves. They will never know who betrays them," Micheletto hummed, and the Frenchman shared in their laugh.

"Catherine," Ezio whispered from on high, reaching over to tough his wife's arm. She flinched noticeably—as if struck. Her eyes looked wild, her features taught, and her fingers clenched. He didn't need her to say anything to know; just seeing the men had driving her towards the madness; had unleashed the rage burning inside. He wrapped his fingers around her fist, squeezing gently, and met her gaze. She looked away after a moment, but it seemed to do the trick; her fingers relaxed—even if only a little—and she nodded. He breathed out, "Alright."

The only way up was to climb the wall. It was an easy feat, as was yanking the guard over the edge to a quick death as his head cracked against the stone. From there, though, things got a bit complicated. The inner workings of the _Castel_ were not so easy to traverse. The main towers where they needed to be didn't have an easy jump to, and the gap to the ground from the higher floors made a for a fatal fall. There were countless guards, too, despite many being pulled out to serve under Cesare. Yet, it was manageable. They'd surpassed worse situations, but it was much slower going as they overcame each obstacle; killing guards when they needed and jumping and leaping from roofs to ledges before finally crossing a thick wire crossing to the main tower. There they clambered up to another ledge, this one large enough for them both to rest on. They needed only a moment or two, but it became longer as, from the window above, another chorus of voices.

"Cesare," a woman spoke, and they knew at once it was Lucrezia. They didn't dare peak over, for fear of being seen, but Ezio again noticed Catherine tense again. Her breathing was shallower, fingers clenched again.

"Lucrezia," her brother purred before both became quiet for a few seconds. "I hope you have treated our guest with kindness."

"That mouth on her… How I would love to sew it shut," the blonde hissed.

"I rather like it open myself."

Her annoyance was palpable, "Oh?"

He chuckled in response, "Have you talked to the Pope about the funds requested by my banker?"

"He is away from the _Castel_ , and he might need some convincing when he returns."

"That should not be a problem, should it?"

"No," Lucrezia replied after a pause. "Only… it gets quite lonely here. You and I spend so little time together these days, busy as you are with your _other_ conquests."

"Soon. Once I have secured the throne of _Italia_ , you are going to be my queen," Cesare rumbled, voice low and husky, "and your loneliness will be a thing of the past."

"I cannot wait," Lucrezia breathed. Ezio couldn't help frowning with a twinge of disgust. To think—the two were lovers? It was unholy, and he was not much of a believer compared to most. He did not see the lure in such a man, either—not in the way he commanded his own sister to behave. That was not the bidding of a lover. No, what Cesare and Lucrezia had was not the same as he and Catherine. Not by a long shot.

"Fucking bastards," she hissed, fists shaking. Her eyes turned to him, a dangerous flare to them. "Rodrigo isn't here. _Fuck_. And now Cesare is leaving? God dammit!"

"Shh!" he hissed, coming closer. He kept quiet, waiting to hear any sounds of surprise, but there we none. "It was bad luck. We may not kill them now, but we _will_ later."

"You keep saying that! They need to die _now_!" the redhead hissed back. The anguish in her voice struck him hard, and the wound filled with guilt. "Why—why do they keep getting away!? Why can't I kill them!? They took _everything_ and yet—!"

Ezio brought her to him, arms wrapped tight around her. She clutched at his shirt, body shaking some, though not from tears or sadness. It was the anger and madness, driving her to this insanity. He wished he could quell it there and now, but he couldn't. He could only make his empty promises that he had no hopes of fulfilling—not truly. Not when she was right; not when their prey constantly eluded them.

"We may not kill them today… but we will get our son back. _That_ we will do."

"Yes… yes, we'll get him back…," the redhead hissed, and though her words gave him little comfort, Ezio released his wife and they continued onwards.

The way was a bit treacherous, but their experience allowed them to overcome the climb to the next window sill, this one giving them a view into the prison. Through the slits they saw an armored guard, and closer towards them was the top of a head of full of red hair. It was no doubt Caterina, and even if they needed more convincing, the furious sight of Lucrezia suddenly storming into the prison was the nail in the coffin. She was like a bat out of hell as she nearly pushed the guard aside when he opened the gate. She made a point to grab an iron rod as she went.

"How was the journey to the _Castel_? Did you sit in Cesare's private carriage? I heard you rode in it on the way here to _Roma_ , too," she sneered, but Caterina was not any easy woman to subdue. No, she sneered right on back.

"You are pathetic, Lucrezia," she snapped, and the blonde shoved her back roughly, eyes full of venom.

"What did he talk about? His plans for Napoli? Did you like it?"

"I cannot remember."

"Perhaps you will remember this!" the blonde snarled and quickly whipped the iron rod against Caterina's side. The woman gave a sharp cry, to which Lucrezia laughed at, "That put you in your place. Guard, lock the cell and give me the key."

"We need to hurry," Ezio grimaced and they pushed onward once more.

Their climb took to them to the very peak of the _Castel_ , the city so far away and the sky seemingly so close. The setting sun shone down on them as they kept low and crawled along the stone stops towards the roofs. A few archers were in the way, but they fell quickly to knives and daggers. Next were the guards in the courtyard below, from which all but one portal was closed. By some stroke of luck, it was the very way they needed to go. The stairway descended into a lavish hallway, adorned in red tapestries and rug that ran all along the marble floors. At the center was an archway with a staircase that led further down—to the dungeons. Ahead was a path upwards.

"Caterina will be that way," the Assassin mused, turning to his wife. "Lucrezia took the key, but I don't know where she went… the guards may have another, though."

"I'll go on ahead. Our son will be higher up—where the family and guests stay."

He watched her carefully, "There's a lot of rooms to search."

"Then I'll ask the one who knows," she growled, low and dark, her fingers clenching; ready to unleash the Blade.

"I'll come with you," he spoke quickly, but she shook her head without meeting his gaze.

"We'll waste time. Go get Caterina while you can. I'll find Mario."

"Catherine," he called, and this time she did look. Fierce eyes found equally serious ones. "Don't forget."

There was a long pause in which his heart skipped too many beats, but then she made a sound; a grunt, if anything. But it was acknowledgement. Lucrezia was Borgia, but not their priority. Not like Cesare and Rodrigo. Although, it was hard to force himself to not want to see her harmed—not when she had brought pain to his wife. He had to be better than that, though. He had to only kill those that needed to die, and Lucrezia was not a threat to _Roma_ like her brother was; not that he could see yet. She was a spiteful, hateful creature, yes, but he did not think she deserved death. Not today, anyways.

"Go, and meet me here," he spoke, and she nodded.

Ezio turned and started down. Catherine, likewise, turned, but went up. She did so slowly, straining her ears for any signs of movement. So far, there was nothing. It was a bit unusual for there to be no extra guards, but the _Castel_ was less heavily staffed with Cesare keeping most of the men out to war. Still, she didn't let her guard down. Although, it was hard when she had to resist the urge to run instead of stalking like she was. For all her promises and nods of agreement, the calling was there. The whispers called in the back of her mind, and she wanted so badly to run the Borgia woman down and slit her throat. Or perhaps first she'd draw lines into her back—so she would never forget in the last moments of her life. She would pay for her sins, that Catherine was certain of.

The stairs gave way to a larger complex, one she didn't recall from her time here, or rather her short walk to her cage. It had an open canopy to the sky, and ornate walls that reminded her of a garden. There were flowers here and there, but thus far the only occupants were a guard on the far side, and—there. Lucrezia. And another. A man, but not Cesare.

Catherine narrowed her eyes as she kept crouched low and lumbered closer, readying her Hidden Blade. There were no other guards, though, giving her more freedom. It made the urge all the greater, but she resisted—for now. She wanted her prey alone. She wanted to enjoy the moment for all it was worth.

"I love you so, I want to sing it to the heavens," the man spoke, causing Catherine to pause. His tone was sincere, as odd as that was.

"Please!" Lucrezia gasped, reaching towards him, her voice urgent. "You must whisper it only to yourself. If Cesare found out, who knows what he would do."

"Are you not newly widowed?" the man inquired, truly perplexed.

"He _killed_ my husband."

The man paled, " _Oh_."

"Cesare has always been jealous of my attentions," the blonde sighed, "but that should not deter us."

"No?"

"I will keep our secret."

"Lucrezia, your lips call to me."

Catherine's stomach twisted at the display. It was disgusting. This woman was a harpy; a succubus, even. She preyed upon men to feed her deplorable romance with her brother. She had dared to lord herself over the redhead, and yet she was the one so far beneath her; beneath everyone. Catherine hated her. Loathed her. All the memories returned in a rush—of her little spats; her attempts to strike her; the burn of the whip with every lash. It fueled the fire and her hands shook as she forced herself not to suddenly barge through the gates and cut her down. She needed the woman to speak, but by God once her tongue had spilled enough she would slice it clean off!

Catherine's blade loosened with a soft clink of metal against metal, but it was enough; Lucrezia and her secret lover suddenly parted from one another's embrace, eyes wide.

"What was that?" the woman gasped, gaze darting this way and that.

"I…" the man began, standing as he did, "am late for rehearsal. Farwell, my love."

He darted towards the hidden Assassin, whom crouched lower and against the gate's obscure portion. He never noticed her as she went, but the redhead remained still as the hidden guard suddenly approached Lucrezia.

"I heard the entire exchange, My Lady, and can vouch for it."

"Good," the blonde practically smirked. "Tell Cesare. We shall see how it feels when the shoe is on the other foot."

The guard bowed respectfully and left, leaving the Borgia alone. In her believed solitude she plucked a flower from the garden, regarding it closely. A wry smile came about her, and she laughed lightly as she began to pluck at the petal with a sigh.

"He loves me… He loves me not," she chuckled, almost ruefully. "He loves me… He loves me not… He loves me—."

" _You_ do not know love."

Lucrezia spun with a gasp, face turning pale as Catherine emerged, Hidden Blade at the ready. She pulled her hood back in one fell swoop, and the Borgia's face went a shade whiter. The flower dropped from her grasp as she backed up a step. Catherine followed in suit, hazel eyes burning in the firelight.

"N-no—you—it—it cannot be! You are dead! Cesare said he was rid of you!" she stuttered, panic overcoming her. The whispers howled, and though the wolf mask remained at the _Isola_ , she felt its fangs, nipping at her mind. Blood was needed to quench the thirst, and she imagined a good deal of blood would flow from that ripe bosom.

"I _survived_ , you pathetic, worthless, she-bitch whore!" the redhead snarled, suddenly surging forward and shoving Lucrezia back against the gate behind her. She cried out in pain, but her guards were gone, and she had not the strength to fight the Assassin, whom grasped her hair tight, yanking it so her neck was fully exposed, and pressed the cool steel of her Blade to her neck. "Where the fuck is Mario!? Where is my _son_!? What have you done with him!"

"Nothing!" she yelped, her seemingly stalwart walls falling apart. Not even the Borgia pride could save her, the woman not a warrior like her brother or father or his dogs. Her only weapon was the hole formed by her lips and the one between her legs. "He's safe! With Giovanni!"

" _Where_!" she snapped, pressing the blade closer so blood began to trickle. The woman shook in her grasp, lip quivering as fear began to claim her. It was intoxicating, seeing the fear in her pitiful, dark eyes. To think, the mighty Borgia "queen" could be brought to crumble so easily. It was a sweet justice—the kind one could not resist drinking from.

"Through there! He's safe! Just please—don't kill me! _Please_!"

Catherine paused, a strange kind of rage coming over her. Her hand shook, and she threw the woman down, who cried out in pain. The redhead stood over her, teeth and fists clenched.

"You—you dare beg _me_ to spare you!? After _everything_ you've done!? Did you spare me when you took my home? Killed my people? When you murdered my Commander who I loved like a father?! Did you spare me when you took my son!? Did you spare me when you whipped me until I bled?! Why the fuck should I spare a sniveling coward who doesn't even know what love is! You are a disgrace! You are the scum of this Earth! You have never known love and you will _never_ know it!" she snarled, each word a blow that made Lucrezia sink further and further into the stone. She shrunk ten sizes, becoming nothing more than a flea before the wolf's fangs. Catherine snarled as she crouched down, grabbing Lucrezia collar with one hand and putting the Blade to her throat. "You said the Borgia never forget. Well, the Auditore _never_ forgive, and today you will pay for your sins. Then I'll come for your brother and your father and every fucking God damned one of you bastards who dared try to take my son and destroy everything I know! I will—"

"Catherine! _Enough!_ " Ezio's voice resonated, turning both heads. His gaze was fierce, matching hers, but the latter's faltered. She recalled his words and her promise as he went on, "You've done enough."

"Where's Caterina?" the redhead asked, refusing to move her weapon or loosen her grip.

"The guards did not have an extra key. Lucrezia has the only one."

Catherine looked to the woman, who looked ready to break down into tears, "Where. Is. The. Key? Or shall I give you a pretty scar like you did me? I wonder if Cesare will still love _you_ after such a blemish on that pretty face of yours."

"My dress—between my breasts!" she spoke quickly, earning a curled lip from the redhead. She dropped her collar to reach in and, thankfully, the key was easy to find. Catherine held it out to her husband, but instead of taking it alone, he grabbed the redhead's forearm and tugged her up. She looked at him, confused and angry.

"You _promised_ me. This is not our way," he spoke softly as Lucrezia sat up some, breathing uneasily as she forced back her sobs.

"She deserves to die. They _all_ do. She took him from us! She's one of them! She gave me those scars. I can't forgive her. I _won't_ ," she rasped, wrenching her arm free. "Don't take another chance from me."

"Vengeance isn't our way!" he replied, but to her surprise he didn't stop her as she grabbed Lucrezia's hair again, keeping her at her mercy. The woman let out a proper sob as the Blade came near. Ezio's heart raced, his fears growing and hope withering. If she killed the Borgia now—when her only true crime was the arrogance of nobility and a cruel lineage—then she was no better. "Don't do this, Catherine. This isn't why we're here—why we do this. You know that. You taught _me_ that."

Catherine grit her teeth, his words calling forth the past, but the whispers were becoming howls. They hated him for it. They fought against him. They told her he was the enemy, too—that he was with the Borgia; that he didn't care; that he didn't want to kill them. Ezio wanted something else. He didn't want their son back. He didn't want vengeance. No, he wanted to stop her, but what could he do? Her neck was right there; the soft, tender flesh, ripe for the culling. All she had to do was stick the Blade in, and that would be it. She would bleed out before anyone found her, and oh God the despair it would bring her enemies. Cesare would lose a piece of himself, and Rodrigo would lose a daughter and an asset. The Borgia would feel the wound to the core, and all she had to do was push a little harder. She was helpless in her grasp—it would be so easy!

Catherine's hand shook, the howls so loud, and yet. And yet!

The rage had not ebbed, but the redhead brought her Blade arm down. Instead, she brought her face close to Lucrezia's, making sure she could see the hate in her eyes.

"That man does not love you, and he never will," she hissed coolly, and then slammed the woman's head against the ground. She didn't yelp as she lost consciousness, even if only briefly as she groaned in pain. Catherine ignored her as she stood and shoved the key to Ezio.

"Go get Caterina," she growled as she turned and made for the door Lucrezia had told her to go to.

Ezio's heart raced, "Where are you going?"

"To get our son," she replied plainly and without looking back. She feared if she did, whatever power kept her from slitting Lucrezia's throat would break and the fangs would lock around her own. Even as she left the half-conscious woman there, she wanted to go back and finish the job. She wanted to make her scream and cry and _suffer_ , but she pressed on. Her son needed her more. Her baby. Her child. Her little Mario. He was here, just moments from her. The call to find him was nearly as strong as the screaming whispers, which grew louder and louder with every step. It was deafening and maddening, and her fingers clenched and unclenched as she made through the long hallway, the walls lined with tapestries and paintings but no other doors. No, the only door was at the end, thick, dark wood, and a metal handle keeping her apart from her goal.

It swung open with a groan and had there been anyone there—a guard or even another Borgia, she would have gladly stuck them. But there was no one; naught but an empty, large room. It had an entrance to another, this one with a much larger adult bed and furniture as such. It looked to be the room of a woman—Lucrezia's, no doubt. The notion made her skin crawl and a low growl escape her lips. It faltered at the sound of movement, and from the other room a woman appeared. It was a maid, whom looked with surprise as she breathed in sharply.

"You—you did it. You survived," she spoke, disbelief paramount. The words tugged at memory, and it was only a moment before Catherine remembered. The maid. The midwife. The one who had helped her during the birth and given her time with her son. The woman who gave her the potion to keep the Followers from doing more.

She was also the woman who did _nothing_. She'd done nothing to stop the Borgia. She let them take her—let them _hurt_ her. She let them take her child from her! And her potion? A lie. It had only saved her for a night but cursed her for a life time. She was no ally. She was like the Borgia. She was like all the bastards who had hurt her and her family. She deserved to be punished, too. She deserved to suffer.

 _Kill her! Like the rest!_

It took everything for the redhead to scream back at the whispers, telling them that wasn't true. The woman had helped.

It was so hard, though.

"Where is my son?" she rasped instead, muscles tightening. If the older woman sensed the danger, she didn't show it as she stood aside.

"He's in here—sleeping. He has remained safe, and in good health," she replied, though it did little to assuage the howls. If anything, they grew worse, demanding she take her vengeance—her pound of flesh. Blood had not flowed; the coffers were empty. The hunger needed to be sated.

 _Kill her! Kill them all!_

She forced her legs onwards, the thought of her son giving her the strength to hold on to herself—to ignore the callings that threatened to pull her under. The fangs were biting at her ankles and wrists and snapping at her neck. They grasped her mind and dragged and pulled her back, but she pressed on and on and on; every step heavier than the last. She crossed the mantle, though, and stepped into the smaller room, a crib at its center. Her mouth felt dry, her tongue catching in her throat as she came closer and closer. The whispers screamed and wailed, clawing and scraping and biting as she finally, at long last, could look upon her child.

And then—silence.

The whispers were gone, her mind quiet after so long, and in its place was the small, rounded face of her child. His hair had grown dark and thick in the months apart, and his cheeks were a bright pink and a bit pointed on the edges. He was a good size, although perhaps a little small still, but he looked healthy and strong. And he was right there. All she had to do was reach, but that felt an insurmountable task. Her hands were heavy, and her arms were like lead. She could barely bring her legs to take another step, and yet she found her glove but inches from the child's soft face, eyes closed shut as he slept soundly.

Catherine sucked in air she didn't know she needed as she surpassed the distance and felt the solid flesh against her glove. Her hand cupped his cheek, and then his head, and then he was in her arms and against her breast. Her heart beat a million miles a second, unable to believe this was _real_. Everything was so quiet and still, her child's breathing louder than anything else. It was proof, she knew. Proof he was alive and real. The feel of his body against hers was real. His soft cheeks and even softer hair were real. The light, soothing scent about him was real.

She'd found him. Her Mario. Her dear, precious boy. He was in her arms at last. At _last_.

"Oh—Giovanni, no wait—!"

Catherine spun around, eyes wide as she caught sight of the young boy at the door, having passed the unsuspecting maid. She grasped his shoulder, though, which he did not shrug off, but did not move away, either. His gaze was upon the redheaded woman, and the child in her arms. The fear and disappointment were all too clear, but there was something else—perhaps relief, or a strange acceptance. Either way, he became crestfallen, head falling briefly, and then met her gaze, more resolute.

"You've come for my little brother, haven't you? You… you're going to take him away… aren't you?"

Her mouth was dry as she nodded numbly, "Yes… he is my son… and he does not belong here."

"I… I knew you would. I knew… but… but even so… I… I'll miss him… He… I…"

"I'm sorry. I know you were good to him," she spoke, voice soft, and an odd sensation of guilt overcoming her. Oddest of all, was the lack of the burn she'd become accustomed to. This child was a Borgia, and yet she recalled no foul thought of him; no enraging memory. She only knew sadness and kindness, and so she felt it for him now.

"Yes—I protected him. Just like I promised. I was a good big brother," Giovanni went on, sounding strong, but his eyes were watering. He clutched at something under his shirt, which seemed to give him a new strength. He pulled a chain over his head, placing the item into his hand, and then held it out to Catherine. Her heart skipped a beat this time, eyes widening, as she saw it.

The Clock. _Her_ Clock. Cesare had given it to his son, and now the boy gave it back to her.

She could barely believe it was real as she reached for it and took it gently. It was real, though, and solid. It was cool to the touch, but she remembered the feel of it beneath her gloves. It was the very artifact that had brought her here.

"Please, give it to him—to remember me. I don't know if I will ever see him again," the boy smiled sadly, a tear trickling down his rounded face. Catherine's stomach twisted, and she looked to the maid, whom met her gaze.

"You… you could come with me, Giovanni. I could take you with me. You would be safe," she spoke, looking to the boy again. His eyes widened, and he considered it for a moment as he clutched his shirt tightly. His lip quivered as he thought, and, for a moment, she thought he would agree. When he looked back up, though, she saw a different kind of resolution.

"I… I can't. Auntie… she needs me still. Grandpapa, too. I… Father and Micheletto frighten me, but… I am still needed here," he replied, but it was not entirely no. In her arms, Mario made a soft sound. Catherine stroked his head gently, which seemed to calm him, and thought quickly herself.

"If… If you decide to leave… you can come find me—my people. People like me. We can help you. We can get you out. We'll keep you safe. I promise."

His eyes went wide again, "Your… people…? But… but how? How can I-I find you?"

"I may be able to help you with that, my child," the maid spoke up, stroking his hair gently. "When you feel you can stay no longer, come to me. I will make sure her people can find you. But for now, you must go, little Giovanni. You cannot linger here, and neither can she. Time is running short, do you understand?"

The young boy looked back to Catherine and the baby, "Don't let him forget me… okay?"

"I won't. I promise. And… thank-you—for being a good big brother to him," the redhead smiled gently, which she received in kind. Then the maid ushered him off, and he did so quickly, tears rolling down his cheeks faster now. When he was gone, Catherine regarded the woman carefully. "Who are you?"

"Only know I am an ally… and that you must leave—quickly. I gave the boy a drought to sleep through until morning, so he will not expose you by accident. But I cannot prevent the guards from finding you. Now, go, my Lady. I will look after Giovanni. And… I pray we not need to meet ever again—at least here," the older woman smiled, sparing the redhead one final look before wandering off the same way the young Borgia had gone.

Catherine was alone then, her child in her arms. It was strange, holding him there, and the silence it brought. She had not known such emptiness, and yet it was a soothing kind. She didn't know emptiness _could_ be soothing, yet there it was. She only lamented she could not linger on it, forcing her legs to move and keep her child as steady as possible against her breast.

No guards waylaid her on the way back, and Lucrezia was barely regaining consciousness—her arms moved, and body shifted—as she went through the gardens. Emptiness was replaced with worry and urgency in those moments, and panic and fear kept her blood pumping hard. There was some relief when she came to the hallway and found her husband at the bottom of the stairs. Caterina was in his arms, her leg swollen and red even in the dark room. There was another with them, as well, much to her surprise. It was a young man, although an adult, wearing prisoner's rags, and looking like he'd seen better days. He had dark eyes and hair, long and unkempt, and a thick beard growing. Most of all, though, was that he was so familiar. She couldn't quite place him, so she looked to Ezio, whom did the same, and then gazed at the bundle in her arms. They went wide, but there was relief there, a look which she shared. She raced down to him, revealing the boy just enough. Now that she was closer, she could see the other man, and had to blink twice.

"No… It… it can't be… Federico?" she breathed, and the young man smiled weakly.

"Yes… it is me, Auntie."

"How?"

Ezio smiled at his nephew, "Turns out the Auditore's are better at surviving than the Borgia thought."

"I heard Uncle talking with the Lady. I managed the strength to call out, and, thankfully, he had the key," he chuckled tiredly this time, then noted the babe in Catherine's arms. "A child?"

"Is that—?" Caterina gasped, finally noticing as well.

"Our boy. We'll have to do a proper reunion later. We need to go," Catherine replied, and no one argued. Though not in the best of shape and incumbered, the motley group hurried out into the outer walls of the Castel. Ezio had to set the Lady of Forli down to open the gate, which left them waiting in countless, tentative moments, but then they were rushing through to the stables. Ezio set Caterina upon a readied horse, and then helped Catherine up onto another. He slipped behind her, allowing her to keep the child close to her chest while he handled the reigns. Federico, like-wise, hoisted himself up behind Caterina—she helped him as best she could—but let his riding partner take the reign in his stead. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, as if his life depended on it. In that moment, it probably did.

"Hurry!" the duchess called, alarms starting to ring out from the _Castel_. "And you, boy, hold on tight to me!"

"Way ahead of you, my Lady," Federico chuckled as he rest his head against her shoulders, all his strength going into holding on.

"Ride across the bridge! Our allies will cover us!" Ezio bellowed and urged the horse into a canter.

Catherine pressed back against him, keeping as steady as she could while holding the child. The drought did its work, though, as he barely stirred as they raced through the open gates and onto the cobbled stone of the side path of the _Castel_ to the main bridge. It was encumbered with guards, Cardinals, and pedestrians, but they all either moved or were shoved aside. It mattered little, although there was a cry to rally from behind. The guards would be converging to follow after them soon, but the Assassins and Lady Forli had little to worry about. Just as they passed the bridge in full and made towards the _Isola Tiberina_ , a wall of smoke suddenly burst into existence, creating a walk of grey. It was enough to give the guards pause, but only for a moment before they moved forward again. They only got a step or two before they had to stop once more, a lone figure clad in white emerging from the smoke: a hooded man with a sword in his hand.

"Who the fuck are _you_?" the lead guard, a man adorned in black armor, snapped, brandishing his weapon.

"The liberation of _Roma_ has begun!" the man bellowed, turning even more heads than the wall of lingering smoke did. "No longer will the Borgia be allowed to do as they please! Too long has their voice gone unanswered, but no more! The people will not tolerate your crimes against them! No longer will we let you brandish your swords and claim what is not yours! We are the Assassins and we fight for _Roma_! Today, we emerge from the shadows to fight! Today, the Borgia's will rule freely no longer! Today, the peoplewill rise! Long live _Roma_!"

Behind him, four more figures emerged, shouting the very same and brandishing a wide array of their own weapons. One moment, the groups were at a standstill—the silence and tension so thin, a simple prick of the knife would cut it. In this case, it happened in the form of a dagger into the chest of a guard. The scream erupted into carnage as the Borgia charged against their enemies, and their white-garbed attackers did the same.

"Slaughter them all! And you! Mercenary! Come here now!" the leader clad in black snapped to one of the warrior groups to the side. The "leader" of them raised a brow but sauntered over nonchalantly. He regarded the leader with a raised brow, sparking ire in him. "Don't just stand there, you bastard! Get in there and attack those sons of bitches! The Borgia comma—gah!"

His words were cut short, a long sword stuck through his abdomen. He gasped in agony, blood dribbling through his helmet from his mouth. He looked into the dark, cold eyes of the mercenary, whom smirked.

"Funny thing is… we don't take orders from _you_. Love live _Roma_ , you fucking cock suckers," the man snarled, using his leg to shove the Borgia off his blade. "And long live the Auditore. Men! To arms! Defend the Assassins! Make Bartolomeo proud!"

His call was met with a thunderous roar as all the mercenaries joined in, weapons raised only to be brought down upon Borgia skulls. It was chaos as blood spilled across stone, screams echoing across the sky. It was a revolution, and the city of _Roma_ would never be the same.

Yet, such an inferno was unknown to the pair of horses and their riders as they rode hard through the streets, skirting around guards. It was perhaps a miracle none bothered them as they went, or perhaps it was simply the commotion at the _Castel_ that kept them all busy. Either way, the riders were relieved when the hideout came into sight. Any citizens still out in the night gasped in shock and surprise, while others called for a doctor already—allies of the Assassin, if only in secret, but allies all the same. A stable boy came to grab the mounts' reigns while their riders dismounted, Federico practically falling as he did so. Caterina helped him up, although she, herself had a bad limp on her right side. Ezio was careful as he helped Catherine down, keeping her close as he gazed down at the round face of the babe in her arms. He could not muster the words as he reached out, thumb gently brushing the pink cheeks. He did smile, though, so wide it made his own cheeks turn a different shade.

"We should get inside," the redhead spoke softly, but she, too, had a small smile about her.

"Yes… Yes! Yes, we should," Ezio laughed lightly and moved to his nephew and the Lady of Forli's side. Caterina assured him she could shuffle her way in on her own, but Federico required a bit more help, his body too exhausted from his ordeal. The Assassin could barely imagine what the Borgia had done to him, but he had more bruises than he could count, and both old and new wounds littered his flesh. He looked gaunt, too, his cheeks sunken in some, and he had lost a good deal of weight. Ezio prayed he would live through the night, and that the Doctor would get here sooner. First, though, they needed to get inside and away from all danger.

With the Assassins gone, the hideout was essentially empty, which surprised Ezio some, but he paid it no mind as he found the nearest chair and set Federico into it. He grabbed another for Caterina before hurrying to get food and drink. Catherine, meanwhile, stood off from the rest, staring down at her babe. She hardly noticed her husband coming to and from, bringing what he could to soothe their allies. She didn't even hear the doctor come with his assistant and tend to her nephew right away, listing off the several things wrong with his body. No, all she could see and hear was her child and the soft breaths he took. She could only notice how he was alive and well, and how quiet he was—how quiet the world was.

It was so strange. So very strange. She had not known this kind of peace; to be able to think, and to do so clearly! Her mind felt her own, the howls and the whispers so far away and the fangs even farther. Yet, the absence was not left alone. No, so much else had been pushed aside, dammed up, and now it flooded in. It crashed and slammed into the walls of her mind and heart, and the memories struck her to the core. The things she had done and seen and endured—the chaos she had justified in her madness. It brought her knees to the hard stone, shocking her bones, and breaking her will. Her strength began to fail her, the weight of the world and her actions on her now.

With a heart-wrenching cry, Catherine began to sob. She held her child close, the babe undisturbed in his slumber as his mother let loose the tears. The streams tore down her face and wouldn't stop. There was just too much and the fire that had kept her going—gave her the strength to fight and rage—was gone. It had been doused and only sorrow, guilt, joy, and relief remained.

Even as the arms of her husband found her, pulling her into his chest and cradling her as she did their son, the tears came. She wept and wept and sobbed until the last of her strength that remained was spent and she collapsed into Ezio's chest.

It was then, for the first time in an eternity, Catherine did not dream and did not hear the whispers.

* * *

 **20** – _End_

* * *

 _Act II_

 _End_

* * *

 **TMWolf:** _And that ends this chapter and the second Act! :0 As I said, this was the main climax for the story, and, uh, it's probably obvious why. I took some major liberties with this game mission, as I felt it was a good time to do it. That, and I wanted the Assassin babies to be badass, and for Giovanni A. got some badass moments, too (he's the mercenary that stabs the Borgia, btw xD)._

 _But, okay, SO. Catherine crying is a big, big deal. If you hadn't noticed, she has not cried ONCE since being found, not even during their reunion. She's finally releasing a lot of the hate and seeing what she's done and realizing all the terribleness and it's a LOT to deal with like that. And she's just finally feeling the weight of everything that happened. So, yeah. The crying is a big, very good sign._

 _Also, in case you missed it... some of the events in the preceeding chapters were foreshadowed by the Apple! :'D I suggest going back to the chapter she gets forced to use it to see for yourself hehe ;)_

 _Anyways... so Act II ends, which means the next Act is leading towards the end game. But it won't end too quick! I expect the story will end with 40 chapters, which uh, I did NOT mean to do lol! But it happened and I don't mind, and things are going to get way more complex and expanded on. So woo hoo!_

 _But for now... some sweet times coming, so breathe out folks. The worst is over!_


	21. Act III - Nemesis - Learn Me Right

**_TMWolf:_** _Update time! I meant to do this other christmas break, but I definitely got distracted haha. It's here, though, and y'all get to enjoy some great fluff! :)_

 _Thanks to everyone sticking with me on this sequel and leaving all your wonderful reviews *all the hearts* It means a lot, and I hope you'll continue to let me know your thoughts on everything X)_

 _This chapter is from Mumford & Sons - Learn Me Right (ft. Birdy) [It's from Brave!]_

* * *

 _Act III_

 _Nemesis_

* * *

 **21** _ **–**_ _Learn Me Right_

* * *

 **July 1, 1501**

 **Roma, Italy**

Catherine woke up in her shared bed and didn't recall getting there. The room was still a bit dark, though it was because of the curtains, which had been pulled closed. Only a few slivers of the sunlight could reach through, and by the brightness she guessed it was mid-morning. She sighed softly as she rubbed her face, only to pause.

It was quiet.

She couldn't recall a morning when it had been. Yet, there was. The silence—the sweet, sweet silence. It engulfed her, filling every cell in her body. It gave her such a rush of relief she didn't know she was possible. Her mind was so clear. The weight that had been there but a day before was suddenly gone, and she almost didn't know how to fathom it. She'd been so consumed by it since her fall into that dark pit it had become all she knew. It _had_ been all she knew and kept her going. It had let her survive the catacombs and her enemies and her own despair. But now it was gone, and she was exposed. Weak, even.

It left her vulnerable to the onslaught of memories crashing down upon her as they had the previous night, drowning her in the guilt again. Her eyes stung, and she let out a soft, stifled cry. God—what had she done? How had she let herself do all those things? Or, no—she knew how. She knew why. She'd _chosen_ to do it. She'd been _happy_ to do it. She had gladly welcomed the fire and rage because it had been all there was, and now? Now she suffered for it, at last.

Catherine pushed herself up and hated how the motion sapped the energy from her. She felt so tired, and might have even considered sleeping again, but there was no time. They had been victorious last night. They had rescued their comrades and her child and—and Federico! Oh, God, the young man was alive! It was a miracle, one none had expected. Yet, had the price been too high? Had they lost any? What of their Brothers and Sisters? What of her recruits? Had she brought harm to them again because of her prideful, blinded whims? And what of Giovanni, who'd led the Mercenaries there? Had he survived? Had Claudia regained one son only to lose another?

The redhead breathed in deep, closing her eyes to try and steel her mind. It was strangely easier to do, and she had to laugh at the notion. It was only so easy because the whispers were gone; because the wolf mask was—still there.

Her blood ran cold as her eyes settled upon the white fur, stained black with the dried blood. It was still on the mantle, ever quiet, and yet just barely—she heard them. The whispers. The howls. They were calling her back.

The door opening made Catherine jump, and she turned sharply, eyes wide at first, though they relaxed when she saw not danger of any kind, but her husband.

Her Ezio.

He looked upon her, his expression full of worry and fear, but also hope and relief. She didn't blame him. Thinking back on everything—of the madness, for that was what it was—she could barely believe he was even there in the doorway, holding a plate of food and a cup of most likely wine or perhaps milk. She didn't understand how he had endured it when she had fallen so far, but her heart swelled at the sight of him. The smile she gave him was gentle, and a strange warmth filled her when she saw how his eyes lit up with joy. He was by her in the next moment, setting the plate down on the bed beside her so that he could reach up to cup her face. She leaned into it, closing her eyes to take in the feel of his hand. It had been there so many times before, but this time was different. The warmth there poured into her, giving her strength she thought she no longer had.

"Hey," she spoke softly, chuckling even.

His eyes watered—just a little, "Hey. How are you feeling?"

"I…" she began, but then looked down, biting her lip. "I feel… better. I think. Tired mostly, really. I… wait—where's Mario? Where our boy?"

"It's alright, he's fine—he's with Diana and Mother. They've both been dying to meet him," Ezio chuckled as he pressed his forehead against hers. "I'm glad you're better."

"Me, too. I… I feel… I don't know. It's… strange. So very strange. When I was able to hold him—when I had Mario back it… everything… it's… quiet. I don't know. I don't really understand how, but… nothing else worked, but when I had him _back_ I... I just…"

"Shh… shh, don't fret over it. What matters is that you're feeling better and more yourself," he spoke softly, stroking her hair back behind her ear. Yes. More herself. That was how she felt. That was exactly it, and how peculiar a thing that was to realize. Ezio chuckled as he brought the food to her lap. "Here, eat. It will help."

"It looks good. And I am starving… but tell me about what happened last night—after we got back. I don't remember much. Is Federico okay? How the hell did you even find him? Where was he all this time? I thought he'd died, and—," she started, but was silenced by a finger against her lips and a wry smile on her husband's lips.

"Eat. And I'll explain everything," he grinned, and she relented. Once she took a bite of the ham and eggs, he went on, "I didn't see him when I first got there, but when I had the key, he spoke up. He didn't recognize me at first—he was that exhausted—but I found him. Although, I almost didn't think it was with all the dirt and how thin he'd become… But thankfully the key worked on his cell, too, and I got him out. He's resting now, though. God knows he needs it. They… The Borgia… they beat him badly.

He smiled sadly, "He's was— _is_ a strong boy, though. He'll have quite a few new scars, and his shoulder and knee may never be quite the same, but he'll live. Seems he escaped the assault for the most part at _Monteriggioni_ , but when he went back to find his father and Uncle Mario, he was attacked and taken captive. Turns out the Borgia didn't end up killing everyone, and they didn't recognize him at first. He thinks one of the men ratted him out after being tortured, and they tried to get information from him or something. They brought him back to the _Castel_ about a month ago as a prisoner—perhaps to use against us at some point since they knew we were here, but now… Now he's safe. Our son is safe. Even Caterina is safe. At most she'll limp for a day or two."

"I'm relieved… God… Claudia… she'll be so happy. Does she know yet? Does Giovanni know?"

He shook his head, "No, not yet. He begged me not to go get her after I'd put you to bed. I… I think he's not ready. Or, rather, he doesn't want her to see him this way. I don't blame him. He looks as bad as he feels. But Giovanni knows. He came in after the fight on the bridge settled, and they found each other. I thought they'd never let go for a moment there, but Giovanni had to return to the Barracks to report to Bartolomeo."

"He should talk to Claudia soon… she needs to know. It's… losing a child—even _thinking_ you have…" Catherine spoke softly, gaze trailing off. She mentally shook her stupor away and returned her gaze to her husband. "What of our Assassins? Are they—?"

"They're fine. No one was hurt, at least not badly. Scrapes and cuts at most. Even Piero will be recovered soon enough. I've told them to lay low for now, so some of them have dispersed out, to keep eyes off us. It's chaotic out in the city right now—the battle caused a great deal of unrest in the Borgia. They're moving through the streets, trying to find the so called 'Assassins' who started a revolution. Our recruits made quite the debut."

"I guess the _good_ things rubbed off on them then. Good. I'm glad. What of the people? Are they… with us?"  
"As far as I can tell," Ezio shrugged. "It's only been hours since the battle, which happened at night, so things are still trying to settle down. I think most will be on our side, though. There might be more trouble with the Borgia, however.

He chuckled as he took her chin gently between her bites, "But _you_ need to focus on you. Although, I admit… I'm glad to see you like this. You're… focused."

"I—," Catherine began, pausing as the guilt came back, quick and sharp. She sighed softly, "I… was not myself. Was I?"

He smiled, but it was forced, "No, you weren't…. but you are now. I can see it. Those are the beautiful eyes I know."

"You're such a flirt," she chuckled. Ezio laughed as he kissed her cheek.

"I only speak the truth."

"Then you're just too good to me," she snickered, keeping her head against his. She nudged her food off her lap, "Can I… Can I see them? Mario? And Diana?"

"Of course—you're their mother. Hang on, I'll get them," he grinned as he squeezed her hand gently before slipping away. She missed his presence at once, feeling oddly exposed. It was too quiet now. It made it to easy for the whispers to start again; too easy for the fangs to draw close. She suddenly regretted having him leave. Breathing became difficult, her chest heavy as she clutched at the sheets. Her heart beat a little faster, stirred by her sudden anxiety—her growing fear.

She dared a glance at the wolf mask, but then looked away just as fast. She swore the eyes had gleamed in her direction, and that frightened her. To think, she'd once accepted it so willingly? But now? Now it scared it—straight to the core.

She jumped again when the door moved, but relaxed and let joy overcome her at the sight of her daughter, holding her father's hand, and the bundle that was their child in his other arm. Diana watched her mother carefully for a moment—it was a heavy blow all the same, though, as Catherine recalled what Ezio had told her not long ago—and then gasped with delight. She quickly bounded over, leaping into the bed, and wrapped her arms around Catherine's neck. The redhead embraced her right on back, burying her head into her daughter's neck. She smelled of cinnamon and she was warm like the sun. Her laughter drowned out anything else, and Catherine would never have let go if not for Ezio lounging beside her, Mario held out. Diana wiggled to the side, allowing the redhead to bring the boy to her. He stirred some, making a groaning-like sound. His eyes opened a little, revealing bright eyes, the irises hazel like his mother's. He had his father's hair for sure, though, and his darker skin tone.

Her precious Mario.

Her beautiful Diana.

Her loving Ezio.

Her _famil_ y _._

She had it back. Some were missing, yes, but she'd reclaimed her son and her nephew. It was still broken in places, but it was mending—slowly, but surely. This was what she'd been missing; what she'd needed. Yes; with this she felt complete and whole and it filled her with warmth and a happiness she thought she'd never have again.

The tears came without warning, but she didn't stop them. Her sobs wrenched free from her throat, and like before, there were arms to hold her tight. Mario, not understanding, began to cry as well for the noise, and there was little to quell mother and son's tears for some time, but it was alright. Things would be better now. Catherine was certain of it.

 **-O-**

"Ah, Catherine, my dear, finally come to join us at last, mm?" Maria inquired as the redheaded mother descended the stairs, Mario cradled in her arm. Beside her, Ezio carried Diana against his shoulder, bottom nestled on his elbow. She had her cheek pressed foolishly against his head, pushing his bangs at an odd angle. Mario was up to his own antics, having found Catherine's longer bangs quite interesting, his small fingers grabbing furiously for them.

The redhead chuckled, "Yes. I think I've slept long enough."

Maria regarded her for a moment from her chair and smiled, "You look good. You slept well then. I am glad. Your son missed you terribly, though. He was a fussy boy when I held him, but with you he is much better. He knows his mother."

"I—ah, yes, I suppose he does," the redhead chuckled, cheeks reddening from her wide smile as she gave Mario her finger, which he focused on instead of her hair. He giggled with delight, kicking his limbs with excitement. Her smile softened some as she spoke, "I… I was worried. I think. That he wouldn't remember me. I only had him for a few days…"

"Children _always_ know, and now that you are reunited, you never need part again. Only, do let his Grandmother tend to him every now and then. My only other grandson is much to old for that," Maria chuckled, glancing up to them, though had to a raise a brow when she saw their expressions. Her mind worked for a moment, focusing mostly on her son, who's face had the definition of guilt painted on it. "What? What is it? What are you hiding? Ezio? _Son_?"

"He… won't mind Maria knowing… would he?" Catherine mumbled, looking to her husband, who groaned slightly as he rubbed his face.

"She already knows something is up… alright. Mother come with me. There is something we must show you," Ezio rumbled, hand moving to the back of his neck. It was an honest blunder, but she was bound to find out before Claudia, being that she was here. Still, he didn't like to disappoint his nephew so soon. There was nothing to be done for it, though, and so the Assassin led their matriarch through the hallways to a back room while Catherine remained back with their children. Federico had been too exhausted to climb the stairs—he'd practically passed out onto the bed and Giovanni had to set him in proper place—so the room served as a good alternative. Ezio opened the door carefully, letting light into the darkened room. Federico was still asleep and looked as bad as he'd been.

Maria gasped, hands flying to her lips, and she made to fly to his side, but Ezio grasped her arm gently, shaking his head. She looked with confusion, eyes watering out of the joy blossoming in her breast, but he only ushered her back out. He shut the door quietly, and then took his mother's hands with a smile.

"Yes. Federico is alive. I know, I know—we all thought he was gone, too. We found him in the _Castel_ 's dungeons. He is… hurt. Badly. But he will live and be strong again," he explained as tears pooled from Maria's eyes. He wiped them away as gently as he could, but it did not abate them.

"Oh, praise God! We have another back! We did not lose Federico—not this time," she croaked as Ezio pulled her into his chest, holding his mother tight. She sobbed into his chest for a little while before composing herself, wiping away the tears, and straightening her dress so she was the picture of elegance and nobility—ever fitting of the title of Matriarch of the Auditore. Her composure was refined when she looked upon them once more. "Claudia does not know."

"She doesn't. Federico begged us not to tell her. Not yet. He… didn't want to be seen like this."

"Ah. He is like his grandfather—and his Uncle. He is an Auditore. Oh, if only Ottavio were here, too! And Mario!" she rasped, tears threatening to strike again. Ezio smiled gently, taking her hands in his.

"I know, Mother. I know. I miss them, too… but we have at least a bit of our family back, and we won't lose it again. I promise."

"Good. You keep your promises. You always have. You are a good boy, my son. A very good boy," Maria nodded, and finally managed to quell her tears, even if they were of joy. She pulled her hand free to cup his cheek. "You brought Catherine back, too… didn't you?"

"I…I think so. I _hope_ so. She's… more like herself. I don't know if it's for certain, but… the way she smiled… The light in her eyes…," he spoke softly, on the verge of a sob.

"Yes, I saw it, too. It is there. You have done well, Ezio. Was it your boy?"

He nodded, "Yes, I think so. She changed once she had him. I just… I hope that's enough. I fear it's not and that I'll lose her again and—."

Maria's hand pressed to his lips, "Hush. Do not think of such things. Only think of what you see in front of you. Hold fast to it now, and do not let go. Do not let her falter again. Keep your family whole, as I could not do. Be better than your father and I, Ezio. Do not let the Borgia take from us again."

"I won't, Mother. I promise."

"Good. That is my boy," the older woman smiled, and her tears rolled fresh again.

 **-O-**

"Grandma was crying, but she looked happy, too," Diana hummed, sitting in her father's lap. He was situated on the couch set in the reading room, empty of everyone but the little family. Catherine sat beside him, leaning slightly against his side, while she held Mario in his arms, whom slept soundly. Ezio chuckled as he leaned forward some to look into the redheaded child's eyes.

"She was. They were tears of joy. She was happy to see you, your brother, and your cousin. He's been gone for a long time—as long as your brother," he replied, and the young girl shifted to look at the baby, wrapped snugly in a blanket. He'd been fed not long ago, and so snoozed off his full belly. Diana peered closer, admiring the round, pale cheeks.

"When did you have him, Mama? Are you sure he is my brother? He doesn't look like me," she mused, frowning slightly.

Catherine laughed as she brushed a dark lock of the baby's hair, "He's definitely your brother. He came from me, I promise… it was… when I was away. He was taken from me not long after he was born, though, so I haven't seen him much, either, but I could never forget his face. He looks like his father, don't you see?"

"Hmm… I _guess_ … He does have Papa's hair. But his eyes are more like yours, Mama."

"That's how you know he came from _both_ of us… just like you have _my_ hair and your Papa's eyes, my love," the redheaded woman chuckled, earning a grin from her daughter.

"So, you got rid of the bad men then? Papa said you would when you went to get him."

Ezio shared a glance with his wife as he answered with a soft sigh, "No… we didn't get them—not yet. The bad men were not there, so we rescued your brother and cousin and Lady Caterina. You remember her, no? But don't worry. We're going to keep fighting the bad men until _Roma_ is free of them."

"You say that all the time," Diana huffed.

"It's… not easy sometimes, my little one," Catherine smiled sadly. "Sometimes… things become difficult. Our enemy is very powerful and very strong and bigger than us. But we are getting stronger and we are bringing them to heel, but the fight will be a very long one, I think."

"Oh… will I get to fight one day?"

"Not if I can help it," Ezio grinned, suddenly lifting the girl up to hold her in the air. She giggled as she kicked her legs playfully.

"But, Papa! I want to fight, too! Mama, you promised to teach me one day!" she huffed, folding her arms even as she was held up.

"Hmmm… I did, didn't I?" the redhead mused, grinning at her husband, whom raised a brow. "Well, perhaps we could start lessons—maybe on your next birthday."

"But—that's forever from noooooow! I bet you'd let my brother fight at my age!" she grumbled, pouting now and puffing out her cheeks.

"Hmmmm we just might have to give into her demands with that," Catherine smirked, earning a look from Ezio.

"Do we _have_ to?"

"She's going to make you. Somehow."

"Alright, alright. Next birthday we can see about it," Ezio grumbled, bringing Diana back down to his lap. She giggled with delight, bouncing on his leg, though all paused as a knock came at the entryway. It was an older woman, dressed in plain noble robes—their daughter's tutor. The young girl groaned dramatically, falling back against her father. He laughed as he nudged her from his lap. "Now, now. Not even a reunion can delay your studies. And don't worry; we'll be here when you're done."

" _Ugh_ ," the redheaded child groaned, doing everything in her power to delay going. The tutor raised a brow, so Diana looked to her mother, whom just gestured with her head to the older woman. Defeated, the young girl trudged to her tutor, whom took her hand and led her from the room, though not before their daughter could wave emphatically.

"So," Ezio began, now that they were alone once more, and looked to the child, "how is he doing?"

"Good. Surprisingly, good. I admit I was… well, worried," she chuckled, looking to her lover, and found he looked surprised. She faltered some, cheeks warming, "It's just… I only held him for a few days before they took him, and… then… the way I was…"

"You're his mother. You'd never forget how to care for your child, even if you missed the first bit of it."

"I suppose so. I just… everything's different then how it was with Diana. I got to hold her the whole time. She drank from my breast and she was with me so long… this… it feels… I don't know. It's _right_ , but not right?" she replied, curling the child closer. She shut her eyes as if in pain. She opened them when his hand cupped her cheek, turning her face towards him. His eyes told her he was searching for something, or perhaps checking for it. She had an idea of what, and it made her chest ache. "Worried I'm going to go back—to what I was?"

"I—no, I—," he balked, looking away quickly.

She laughed lightly, but sadly, too, and leaned her head on his shoulder, "Me, too. I'm… I _feel_ better. I think. I feel _different_. More like before, and yet… I worry. I think back on everything; on all that's happened since _Monteriggioni_ , and I just… I don't know. I'm terrified, and yet… a part of me justifies it. I hate what I became, but I don't _regret_ it, either—not fully. Some part of me is abhorred, but at the same time… I enjoyed killing them. I enjoyed getting back at them any way I could because it was _all_ I could do. But now? I have you and Diana. I have Mario again. I took back what they stole from me, and I know I still hate them. I want nothing more than to make Cesare suffer for what he did… but I'm afraid of what I could do. I'm afraid I'll go back. I'm afraid I'm not even _away_ from what I was. Ezio, the things I did—"

"Shh, shhh, Catherine," Ezio spoke softly, but quickly, and pressed his brow to hers. "The fact you're speaking to me like this—that you _regret_ at all and realize it… that's proof enough you've come from that, and I swear to you: I won't let you fall again. I swear my life on it."

Catherine stared into his eyes a long time before managed a weak smile, "I hope you're right. I think so long as we have our son… it might be. Having him just… things felt _right_ again. I can't even explain it, but just having him here… in my arms… I feel… better. Our family being whole. Yet, I feel so guilty, too. I missed so much of his life so far, and _you're_ just now meeting him. You should have been with me. I should have weaned him. We should have been _home_."

"We should have been a lot of things, my love. We should be retired, traveling the world… but I made a mistake, and it cost us almost everything. This was my fault, and if I wasn't there, it was by my own doing. I should have killed Rodrigo, but I showed mercy and it led to this… but no more. No more mercy for the Borgia."

"Except Lucrezia?" the redhead mused, though she wore a smirk. She still hated the woman, of that she was certain. But if she was to kill her, it would be more honorable. She couldn't make it about vengeance, and if she couldn't be rid of it?

Then perhaps she shouldn't be an Assassin.

Ezio lip quirked upward just briefly, "She's no killer—not like her brother. She's a tool, used by them, although she profits… but I think you punished her as needed, and I suspect her blood will be the undoing of her, not our Blades. Many of the Borgia's allies will find that their fate, I believe. But Cesare will die by my hand. He will pay for his crimes against us and _Roma_ and all the innocent who come under his wrath."

"Do you think it's alright I hope that bastard burns with he dies? That he suffers until his last breath? For all the clarity I have, I still _despise_ that man. I don't think I can ever not hate him," the redhead spoke ruefully, shifting her child in her arms. He made a whining sound but didn't fully wake.

"Don't worry—I can't either," the Auditore chuckled before looking to the boy. He glanced at his wife, gesturing, and she held him out to him. He took Mario into his arms, smiling warmly at the sight of him. He had the look of an Auditore, and though he was a little small, he would become strong. His blood would make him so, and now he could make up for lost time as a father. "I wish you had come into this world under different circumstances, my son… but you are safe now, and your mother and I will protect you always. You'll grow up without worry, and you'll have your big sister to protect you, too. And your cousins, and aunt, and grandmother. And all the Assassins. You will have so many people who love you and protect you, and you will become a strong, honorable young man."

"Yes, yes he will," Catherine smiled, eyes bright. Ezio smiled back and, cradling the child in one arm, reached over to place his other hand behind the redhead's neck to pull her close and kiss her deeply. He hoped it let her know all he felt; all his hopes and love and relief and joy at seeing her so changed. He liked to think she did in the way her smile became soft and tender, reminding him of the younger days—back before all the pain.

"I love you, Catherine. With all my heart."

"I love you, too, Ezio… and I won't fall again. I promise."

"Ah—," a voice—a tired one—spoke up, causing both Assassins to startle. They looked up to find Federico, leaning against the doorway. He had bandages peeping through his clothes, and one eye was swollen shut. He managed a chuckle, "Sorry, was I interrupting?"

"What are you doing up? You should be in bed," Ezio frowned, returning Mario to his mother as he nearly jumped up to get to his nephew.

Federico snickered, "I was hungry, and my brother was _supposed_ to be my page until I healed, but he's bailed. As _usual_. You don't happen to have Annetta here to make food, do you?"

"Sorry, my boy, but, no. Annetta went back to her sister in _Firenze_. But the cook here can make a mean soup. But, first, back to your room, 'Rico. You're in no condition to be up and about."

"I'll have you know I walked all the way here to my prison when I looked this bad. I can manage to a kitchen," the young man smirked, although his body was shaking with the effort. He looked to Catherine as she approached, then down to the baby. "Ah, so here's our Commander's namesake, eh? He's missing the scar, though."

"Yes, well, he won't have one if I can help it," Catherine smirked and gently reached out to touch his shoulder. "It's good to see you again."

"Same, Auntie. Luckily, I'm not a ghost," the young man winked, earning a few chuckles. He sighed a moment later, shoulders slumping, "Bah, you're right, Uncle. I need to sleep more. Smack Giovanni for me, will you? Bastard didn't have my permission to leave."

"Will do, now come on then, back to bed. Oh, your grandmother came to visit. You'll need to make sure to give her a good hug when she comes again," Ezio mused as all three ventured out from the study.

The young man winced, "Mother doesn't know still, right? I… she'll worry so much if she sees me like this. I want to look at least a little decent when she knows I'm alive."

"Don't worry, your grandmother can keep a secret. Hell, I didn't know about your grandfather's work until I met Uncle Mario."

" _Wow_."

"I knew before him," Catherine grinned impishly, to which Ezio pouted and Federico laughed.

"Figures. Oh, so I like chicken soup best, if you can. I'm _starving_ , so maybe some bread and—," the young man went on, but paused as the entrance to the hideout slammed closed. All three heads turned as the baby stirred, whining a little as he did so. All three Auditore's froze as they spotted their visitor.

It was Claudia.

She was panting, hard. Sweat had appeared on her brow and both her dress and hair were disheveled as if she'd been sprinting as hard as she could. She probably had. Whatever the case, she gasped—loudly—at the sight of her son, and the tears immediately pooled in her eyes. Her hands flew to her mouth as she let out a sob, shoulders shaking. Federico smiled, albeit weakly and perhaps a bit regretfully, but he stepped forward with a sheepish grin.

"Hey, Mother. I'm, ah… I'm back."

Whatever held Claudia where she was broke, and the mother sprinted to her son, embracing him around the neck. He was too weak to stay steady, and so went to his knees, bringing her with him. Her face buried into his neck and she broke into loud sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks. Federico didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her, pressing his head into her hair. For all his worth, he, too, began to sob, both overcome by the sheer joy and relief.

Ezio placed a hand at Catherine's back and motioned with his head towards the kitchen. She nodded, understanding his meaning, and they headed that way, giving the two the privacy they needed. All the while they smiled, fingers entwining as they walked, and content with the feeling that perhaps, at long last, things might start to be alright.

* * *

 **21** – _End_

* * *

 _ **TMWolf:**_ A _nd there we go! Huge reunion chapter and basically lots of crying and lovey-dovey stuff. It's not too long, though, and more to get through the next part. We're going to be having some bigger time skips, as no one dies for another year apparently lol It's the downhill run, though, and in just a few years the Borgia will be ruined!_

 _For now, though... happy times ;)_


	22. Leap of Faith

**TMWolf:** _What on Earth!? Am I updated so soon?_

 _Yes. Yes I am._

 _Because. I have, officially, finished this story._

 _No, this isn't the last chapter. Y'all have a good chunk more to go, but I always, always write ahead. It gives me room to plan, check back, and make sure everything is in order. But it's done. I wrote the epilogue not long ago. What this means is, well, for one, the story won't go forever sorry! xD And it also means updates will come more often and without long breaks like before so yay!_

 _For now, though, y'all can sit back and enjoy the next chapter and many more to come. There's a decent road of recovery for 'Cat to come and plenty more adventures and fights to be had, so buckle up!_

 _And a big thanks to all my readers and reviewers, this story exists thanks to you! :)_

 _Now, the song for his chapter is from the Assassin's Creed Movie. A nice instrumental piece where only the title fits 'cause there's no lyrics xD_

 _Enjoy!_

 _P.S. Re-uploaded, because something was weird with it. Fixed, I believe._

* * *

 **22** – _Leap of Faith_

* * *

 **July 3, 1501**

 **Rome, Italy**

"He's eating so good. Look at him," Catherine chuckled as she gave her boy the bottle of goat's milk, which he sucked greedily. He even made grumbling sounds of annoyance when it fell away form his mouth before he clamped his tiny fingers around it once more. His eyes moved from the redhead to the dark-haired man beside her, both of whom looked down lovingly at the baby.

"Good—a big appetite means he'll grow strong," Ezio chuckled, bringing an arm to drape across the top of the couch in the study, his hand lingering on his wife's shoulders. He lifted it up to touch her cheek gently, though. "How are you feeling, by the way? I could tell you were tossing and turning last night."

She smiled, albeit a bit sadly, "Just… bad dreams. I think. I don't remember them—just that… I was restless."

"You'll… be alright?" he asked, this time softly. She looked to him and saw the underlying meaning. In some ways, the notion hurt, and in others, she knew it was called for. Her "recovery" had been drastic and sudden with no clear indication she was truly healed. Even after a few days she doubted herself at times and wondered what might set her back— _if_ she would go bac—and if she could stop it. So far, she had kept strong. At most, there was just quiet whispers like a feeling of nostalgia, but then she would have someone with her and they would stop. Her children and Ezio helped the most, and it was really only when she was utterly alone or in the darkest hours of the night that she swore she might slip at any moment. But she never did. She remained herself—with clarity. And the guilt. It gnawed at her even when she wasn't consciously aware of it, and always she wondered if she might ever begin to repay for her sins.

"Yes—I think so."

"'Cat," he replied, tone urging her to say what she wasn't.

She sighed, laying her head on his shoulder, "I just… worry. I don't want to go back to how I was. I'm afraid I will. I don't always feel strong enough. I worry over what I've done and how to fix it all… some I can't. And others…"

"Like what?" he asked, but she knew he already knew. For the most part.

"I guess… well, the recruits, for one. I was so hard on them… I mean, it wasn't… _bad_. Kind of. But… I was teaching them to be violent—dangerous."

Ezio chuckled, kissing her forehead, "Well, I can assure you that won't be a problem. Ah, now, now, I'm being serious. In fact, you'll see. I sent word out for them to return tomorrow. You'll see then."

"O… kay," the redhead mused, raising a brow now that she was upright and could face him proper. Mario gurgled some, whining as his bottle emptied. He began to make short cries, unhappy with his lack of meal and his belly being rather full. Catherine chuckled, shifting him so could rub and pat his back lightly. She sighed as she returned her thoughts to the topic at hand. "There were our targets, too—and Micheletto… I hate him. I know I do. When I think about him I hate everything about him and want him to die… but how I was…

She paused to look at Ezio for a moment, then the ground, "I don't think I deserve to be an Assassin anymore."

"Catherine—," Ezio started, but she reached over with her free hand to grasp his, smiling weakly.

"An Assassin wouldn't do what I did. I betrayed what we stood for, and I did it willingly, no matter why I became what I did… and even now I worry… can I control myself in the future? If I come to face Micheletto again, will I keep my composure? Or will I want to torture him slowly, so he suffers as much as I wish he could? And what of Cesare? Could I end him quickly? Or would I cut him bit by bit until he begs me to die, but then I'd let him bleed and starve and thirst and die slow? I can't lie and say I don't wish for it… and I worry I couldn't keep from doing it. I worry you couldn't stop me from it, and that means I can't trust myself—not as an Assassin."

"…Is this what you really want? You're certain?" he asked softly.

"Yes. I mean, your lack of assuring me otherwise says a lot so, yeah… Or, well… I guess I don't know what I want?" she chucked ruefully. "I just… don't think I can hunt down targets. Not until I earn my place in the Order again. But… I'd still like to teach the recruits and help. The Order has been my life pretty much. I may not kill anyone—not for a long while, anyways—but… I want to at least make sure our new Brothers and Sisters follow the right path."

Ezio sighed deeply, quiet for a moment before he replied, "I think this new path is the right one… until you feel you are ready. The Order needs you—not unlike how we all do. I will sorely miss your prowess on the hunt."

"Oh, please. You've done fine without me so far. Besides, last time I helped out I nearly got one of our own killed."

"Catherine, you were… different then."

"I was… but I still consciously did it, and I have to embrace it. I'm… ashamed of it, but I can't deny I did it willingly. Our Assassins were hurt and could have been killed because of my madness."

Her husband frowned, "No—you didn't put them in danger."

"But—," she began to counter, but closed her mouth when he raised his hand for her to do so.

"We have a traitor among us. You remember?"

"I… Oh. Yes. I do. Or… a little. I didn't focus much on it," Catherine mused, lip turned downward. She met Ezio's gaze uneasily. "So… it's true then? We've been betrayed? But by who? None of the recruits. They wouldn't."

"No, it's not them. It's… well, I'm not sure. _Volpe_ thinks it's Machiavelli—"

" _What_!? But— _why_? Machiavelli is our best and most loyal ally!" the redhead rasped, leaning forward, but then pulled back when Mario made an uncomfortable sound. She quickly hushed him with gentle cooing as Ezio sighed, rubbing his face.

"I admit… Machiavelli has been… _secretive_ as of late. He has made unusual moves, but, like you, I am incredulous of _Volpe_ 's claims. He is convinced, though, and I cannot ignore his concerns. _Volpe_ loathes the Borgia too much to betray us, Claudia is family, and Bartolomeo, while a mercenary, is as loyal as they come and wants to rip Cesare's heart out. Which means I have no idea who the traitor could be, and I don't know how much information they're able to glean from us. I've tried keeping a tighter network and so far, it's worked— _some_ , but…"

"It's… troublesome. Do you know how long we've had one?"

"Since the attack on the _Villa_."

" _What_!?" she balked, and again Mario fussed.

Ezio grimaced, "It explains how the Borgia knew how to get the drop on us… You were taken, but… they knew how to come by the Sanctuary passages. Someone let them through there. They also knew to come around to try and take us. _Someone_ betrayed us at our home… and they're still among us."

"What's the plan?" Catherine asked tentatively. Her husband sighed, leaning forward to set his elbows on his knees and his chin against his interlaced fingers.

"It's hard to say… So far I'm relying on _Volpe_ to keep eyes and ears open—yes, I know, only probably helps him 'find' things against Machiavelli, but he's our best bet for information—but otherwise… it's been difficult to do much. Not to mention, you were training the recruits, and I've been working to take down Borgia influence and their agents. _Roma_ is vast, and our enemy is tenacious. With Cesare away, though, it may become easier. Perhaps. I don't even really know _who_ to look for or _how_."

"Should we tell Machiavelli?"

"No… he's busy enough as it is keeping us safe in the court and he's been our spy there already. And I don't want to, ah, insult him, truth be told. I don't want to cause a rift, either. _Volpe_ would be furious, and Machiavelli would probably say something to make it worse and—."

"—Ezio, it's okay. We won't say anything… but we'll have to be more careful from now on with how we run things—especially now that our recruits can go out on their own now."

"…You're right. And, actually, having them go after targets or Borgia soldiers will free up time to find this traitor—and spend some of it with my son," he chuckled, reaching over to stroke Mario's head gently as the babe whimpered unhappily.

"We both can. He's over a year now, and we missed all that time… he's probably going to start walking soon, like Diana did," Catherine laughed, but it was weak, and the pain lingered in the echo. "We have to protect him—both of them. Now more than ever. We must find this traitor and take down the Borgia, so they never have to suffer like we did. Diana and Mario have to grow up safe and strong and live whatever life they want, be it an Assassin or nobleman or banker or—or _whatever_ they want."

"Yes… yes, we will give them that life—the one we couldn't have. The _choice_ we couldn't have," Ezio smiled, reaching up to cup his wife's face. She leaned into it, returning his expression. "And I'll be there—to make sure _you_ have the life we fought for. I won't let you go back. I won't nearly lose you a third time."

"What did I do to deserve you?" Catherine murmured softly.

Ezio leaned closer, placing a chaste kiss on her lips, "By granting me the honor of being your husband."

"Such a romantic," she snickered, and he grinned like an imp.

"You love it."

"I do."

The sound of an underground portal closing stole the attention of the couple, and they looked through the entryway of the study to the main hallway. It took a moment, but the all-too-familiar face of Machiavelli appeared in their sights. He paused when he noticed they were there, but then made quick work of the distance between them. He paused again as he realized Mario was in their arms and smiled gently. It was almost enough to surprise the two, having never seen the nobleman express himself in such a way. He glanced at them, no doubt seeing their looks, and coughed.

"My apologies, I did not mean to disturb your time with your son. Congratulations, as well—both on his birth, return, and good health. I see you look to be in better spirits as well, my Lady," he spoke, bowing his head politely.

"Machiavelli, please, you _can_ call me Catherine," the redhead chuckled and motioned him closer. "Come, you can meet him. I promise he is tamer than Diana."

"Oh, no doubt, although she was a delight to have in my home, truly," Niccolò chuckled, venturing closer. He admired the babe for a moment, an odd, yet calm look about him. It was an expression the redhead had never seen upon his face but was reminded of when Ezio had looked upon Diana for the first time. "He is a strong boy. He takes after his father, I see."

"You sound _worried_ ," Ezio smirked.

Niccolò raised a brow, "I have dealt with you just fine, have I not?"

"Ah, your words wound me, my friend."

"Luckily it takes more than that to kill you, no?"

"Now, now, gentleman. You're setting a bad example. So, what do we owe the pleasure?" Catherine chuckled, nudging her husband gently to end his shenanigans.

"Truthfully, I came to see the state of things. I had to keep it brief the night you returned, but now that things have settled down in the court a bit I managed to make my way here. How is Caterina, by the way?"

"She is healing well and plans to return home as soon as she can to reclaim her home. Thank-you for the extra help, by the way—our maid is already busy with Diana, although the Lady Sforza is capable is on her own, but…"

"Of course. I would offer to move her to my home, but… I fear she would not go unnoticed like your daughter. She is safest here," Niccolò nodded, then looked to Catherine. "And what of you? You were…"

"Having a moment, yes. I'm better now, though. And ready to continue the fight—although I intend to remain here as the Mentor for new recruits. It would be best—to prevent further mistakes and keep me near my children. I'd rather not leave Mario to the maids, and I only ask you forgive me for my selfishness."

"No need; there is nothing to forgive. You have done well as their Mentor, and there will surely be more recruits in the future. The Order has need of a person such as yourself—a fellow Assassin to show them the proper way."

The redhead chuckled, "Well, I'm not quite an _Assassin_ anymore—just a teacher. I… have renounced the title—myself. I don't feel worthy of it right now, but I am loyal to the Order and my husband and my allies. I'll do my part to earn my place."

"This is… unexpected," Niccolò mused, glancing to Ezio, whom nodded. The Lord Auditore took his wife's free hand in his, squeezing.

"It is her choice, and I believe it the right one. She will remain to train new recruits while we have our Assassins run missions with me or on their own. There is still much work to be done against the Borgia."

"Indeed… Well, perhaps I may be of assistance to help further your work," he replied, though paused as he regarded the child. " _If_ this a good time, of course."

"No, it's fine. He's falling asleep anyways, look," Catherine chuckled, turning Mario some, whom was making soft sounds as he breathed in and out slowly. Machiavelli smiled gently before motioning for them to follow him. They came to the large table in a corner of the main hall where a city map was set.

"If you would allow, I have drafted a means of communication for you and your recruits—ah, forgive me, your _Assassins_. You can send orders via carrier pigeon or, if you would like, your sister and the others could send them to you as well."

"What if the enemy finds out?"

"The pigeons are trained to come to very specific calls, and their coops are in inconspicuous locations. I will foolproof it further if I can, and perhaps we can even create a cipher of some sorts."

"That might be good—but one we can easily change and rememorize. If possible, but… the idea is a good one. This will make sending out our Assassins much easier, and they won't need to remain cooped up here if they don't wish it," Catherine nodded, smiling as she shifted her babe some.

"Thank-you, Machiavelli. You have helped us yet again," Ezio chuckled, grasping the nobleman's shoulder gently.

Niccolò nodded, "Of course. I am more than happy to be of service to those who serve this city as you do. You are making good work. The Borgia _are_ weakening, but it will still take some time before they completely break."

"We need to do more then—hit more of his weak points. We took his prisoner, so he can no longer sway _Forli_ once we send them word of Caterina's rescue," the redhead mused, glancing down at the map, taking in all its scrawled notes. "We need to eventually draw him back to the city, too. He's out campaigning, and he has no reason to return yet. He has his 'generals' to face us, so he doesn't have to worry."

"'Generals'?"

Ezio frowned, "Yes… One of them was the French general, I believe, Micheletto, and another—a cardinal by the red cowl. I don't know who he is, though… but being rid of them will do more than lure Cesare back. The defeat of the Frenchman will grant Bartolomeo relief.

"Not to mention, they guard the way of Cesare's return. Without them there, you can reach him," Machiavelli mused, rubbing his chin.

Catherine frowned, "Micheletto… is dangerous and not always around. Taking him down will be trickier, I think. And the Cardinal… I don't have any ideas, and I doubt we can get into the _Vaticano_ to take him down so easily. Damn… Not many options… what other things we can we cut from Cesare?"

Their comrade gestured, "Their finances would be a good start—a campaign is not run by soldiers and charisma alone. Coin has paved the way the way for all conquests. If you find who funds the Borgia, you will greatly diminish his reach."

"We'll need to have _Volpe_ or Claudia check around then—they're the best bet to find that out," Catherine mused, looking up to her husband. "You should go see them."

"I can see tothe thieves, but perhaps you should meet with Claudia."

She rolled her eyes, "No, you will see _both_. Stop avoiding her. I may not have been in a good place before now, but I _did_ notice you two. Go make up already."

"I don't know what you mean," Ezio huffed, making a point to not look at his wife. Machiavelli raised a brow but send nothing.

"Uh-huh. Well, it's probably better to get going now than later—we can't afford to give Cesare anymore time."

He looked to her sharply, reaching to touch her hand tenderly, "Are you sure you don't want more time…?"

"I would love to have all the time in the world, but… I'll make do to take what moments I can with my children—and you, of course," she chuckled, grinning at her husband. "But we're at war. Cesare aims to conquer the world if he can, and the longer we sit around, even if it's for family, the longer that bastard roams free and hurts more innocents."

"I do not doubt you will manage, what with your recruits to do many missions for you. But... I concur. There is little time to spare—even for our loved ones. But it is also good to do so, when you can," Niccolò hummed.

Ezio sighed, but nodded and kissed Catherine's forehead, "Alright… I'll head out. I can gather up the Assassins, too. We will need to talk about the new system and prepare them for what's to come. I'll be back by dinner… try to keep the children out of trouble."

She scoffed, "Please. You're the one that has to be told that."

Her husband winked, snickering like the imp he was. He leaned forward, though this time to kiss his son's brow, and then bid their comrade farewell before heading up the nearby stairs to adorn his gear. Wouldn't be wise to go out and about in the city without it, especially when on Assassin business. That, and the city was still a little on edge.

"You look well," Niccolò spoke suddenly, breaking the redhead's stupor. She blinked, then smiled and nodded.

"Yeah. I'm better. Or I'm trying to be. It was… difficult—what happened, but… that's no excuse, of course, for what I did, but… I'm getting there. I'm wary of things, but I have good friends and family, and my children now."

"I am glad—for you, of course, and that you were able to retrieve your son safely. It was quite the feet you two pulled. Every day I am surprised by the miracles you two perform."

"Ha! I guess it seems that way, but, really… I almost screwed it up, but… actually, I had help—sort of. A maid—who never gave me her name, I just realized—and Giovanni Borgia."

"Giovanni… _Borgia_? That… Ah, that is Cesare's son, no?"

She nodded, "Yes. He was Mario's big brother for a little while. He looked after him, and the maid looked after both. She was… She was there when I gave birth, too. She helped me keep him—for a few days. It didn't spare me, but… she tried. And later—when I was in their prison. She gave me a draught to prevent pregnancy. She knew what would happen to me and helped. She was my only ally then, and also now. She's even helping still—although, for Giovanni. He wants to leave, but not yet. I worry for him, though. He's… that place is not good for him, but he's not ready… The maid said she would get word to us somehow. I have no idea how, but I have a feeling she'll manage

Catherine paused, realizing she'd been speaking so much and laughed, "Forgive me, Machiavelli. I rambled there a bit, didn't I? It just… I'm a bit shocked she was so willing to help me."

"It is because she is my spy."

The redhead visible balked, even almost tripping as she had made to turn. She caught herself, though, and thankfully didn't startle her little Mario. She did drop her jaw as she looked to the nobleman, whom smiled both wryly and sadly. She could tell it wasn't a lie, although she knew Niccolò wasn't a man to do so—not without purpose. That, or he withheld the truth, and so she did not doubt his words. The shock was deep, though, and her thoughts ran with the notion.

"Did… did you know I was…?" she breathed, and he sighed.

"Not until it was too late. My maid only got word of confirmation you were there the same time Ezio did, and she was unable to send word of what had happened to you until after you were gone. I did not feel it would do any good to tell your husband what he already knew. Unfortunately, she did not know where you had been taken, so there was naught that could be done. I am sorry I could not act sooner, my Lady. If I had—if word could have reached me _sooner_ …" he rasped, gaze falling, and she could see his arms shake from where he had them behind his back, hands clasped.

She sighed this time, "It's alright, Niccolò. I know you do all you can. She was in a precarious position anyways."

"Ensuring she was taken on as your maid was difficult enough," the nobleman hummed. "But ensuring she remain in the good graces of the Borgia? Remain close to Lucrezia and the child to learn their most intimate secrets? She could not risk even letting you know. In fact, until now, she, myself, and my… special informant were the only ones privy to such knowledge. It has done well, though, and proven useful. She knew to be ready for you the night you came, and when the boy—Giovanni Borgia—wishes to leave… I will know."

"Tell me the moment you do. I swore to him I would get him out… and I won't break it. He was one of the few truly kind people in that place."

"Consider it done—if only to repay you for what I failed to do."

"You are more kind than you let on you know," Catherine chuckled, reaching over to touch his arm gently. He looked to her, a bit surprised, and a bit relieved. "I understand why you did and have done what you did. I wish she could have done more, but she has done enough, keeping my boy safe. What's in the past remains there, though, and now we just have to do our best to ensure all of the suffering and steps we've taken won't be wasted."

"Wise words. No wonder your husband has become so smart," Machiavelli hummed, a sly twinkle in his eyes. The redhead laughed, lightly swatting his shoulder.

"I'll be sure to not tell him you said that even if he knows it already. Anyways, it's about time I put Mario down for his nap and make sure Ezio has everything he needs. You're welcome to visit Diana if you like, and… thank-you—for everything. You're a true friend, Niccolò."

"As are you, Catherine. Both of you. I look forward to seeing _Roma_ return to its true glory. Until then, let the little Lady know I will visit in the coming week—I fear my duties call to me still," he hummed, almost reluctantly, and bowed to the young woman. "Farewell, my Lady. And safety and peace to you and your family."

"And to you," Catherine smiled, bowing her head in kind. The nobleman departed then, slipping from the hideout the same way he had come. Behind him trailed the revelation he'd dropped on her. In a way, it made a great deal of sense, and others made so many more questions. A part of her wanted to hate him for not acting sooner, but it was a selfish part of her that had been hurt deeply by the enemy, but that wasn't her anymore. It _couldn't_ be her anymore. Besides, he had his reasons— _good_ ones. A spy couldn't save her like she hoped. The woman had to remain and ensure the information got through safely. She'd had a role to play, and it wasn't to help her more than she had, and Catherine knew she had to be satisfied with it.

In time, she would do so easily. For now, she forced herself to be content and smiled at the way her comrade had gone. He was a good man deep down, and although _La Volpe_ did not trust him, Catherine knew she did. Yes, Niccolò Machiavelli was a good man, and one of the best allies of the Assassins.

"Alright, let's get you upstairs to bed, mm?" the redhead cooed to her child, gently tapping his nose so that he scrunched it, rumbling with might have been annoyance. She chuckled, tucking him closer to her and ventured up the flights of stairs to her and Ezio's room. Her husband was there, and he was just about done adorning his attire, only his bracers and weapons remaining. He paused when she entered, but smile warmly, and held his arm out for her to come. She smiled back and happily entered his half-embrace, accepting another kiss despite having received one only minutes ago.

"All set?" she asked, tilting her head a little.

He nodded, "Yes. I'll speak with _Volpe_ …. And, _yes_ , I will go see my sister. I still don't approve of what she's doing. It's _dangerous_."

"You're being a hypocrite."

He startled, as if struck, "What? No! I'm not. It's too dangerous for her! We're trained killers. She is a proper lady."

"Oh, thanks," the redhead snorted, then laughed as her husband made a disgruntled face. "I'm kidding. And, you know, if you gave Claudia the chance, she could show you there's more to her than you think. Besides, she has Federico with her now. I doubt she'll let him run off to join his brother, so she has a good sword to help her. Or, well, hopefully. He might become the favorite of the ladies instead. Takes after his Uncle in that way."

"…We're married with _two_ children and you still bring that back up?"

"As your wife I'm allowed and _expected_ to. Just like you tease about me being stubborn and silly and worse still. Now," she grinned, reaching up to pull him down for a much sincerer kiss. "Be back on time for dinner, and bring your sister, mother, and nephew with you. It'll be the first one we have as a proper family. Well, Giovanni won't be there, but he's busy. But you know what I mean."

Ezio chuckled, taking her chin in his hand, "I do. And I look forward to it. Enjoy your day with Diana and Mario."

One final kiss, a little bit of help with his bracer after Mario was set on the bed, and he was ready to go. He was reluctant to do so, but she bade him on, and the redheaded woman was left to her own devices. She brought Mario back into her arms, humming softly as she rocked him a little. He made a pleased sound before settling into an easy slumber. It was soothing to her as well, and she enjoyed the little bit of peace she could take from it.

Yet, even in the calming quiet, she swore she heard a sound—a whisper, not of her own. She paused, confused, and turned, but there was no one there.

There was only her, the sleeping child in her arms, and—

The mask.

Catherine stared at it, her chest tightening. A cold trickle went down to her belly, and for a moment, she thought it had been an illusion. But then—a hushed sound.

She didn't look back as she flew from the room, Mario tucked safely in her arms, forcing herself to pretend it never happened and lose herself in the company of her daughter.

* * *

 **22** – _End_

* * *

 **TMWolf:** _Not a super long chapter by any means, but an important one in its own right. Plenty of revelations, too! Like Machiavelli's spy being the maid! :) Yep, I had that planned since the beginning, which is why she was so helpful and continues to be!_

 _Now, for other important bits: Cat is semi-retiring from the Assassins, but just the main killing work. She is still going to train recruits and run missions, but she is no longer going to do the killing because she doesn't trust herself right now. Not yet-and for good reason._

Seems demons still lurk...

But that's all for now, so until next update! :)


	23. Bittersweet Symphony

**TMWolf:** _Lmao I almost forgot to update. Whoops xD But here's the next chapter! We're going through a recovery process and setting up a LOT of things to do before we face off against Cesare's allies and then the big man himself. There's going to be a lot of things in the game I expand on that were going on elsewhere or in other media. It's going to be kinda imperfect, but I do what I can to keep close, so y'all keep an eye out for things you may or may not recognize! ;)_

 _As always, I do my best to stick to canon, but deviate as needed~ And also as always, thank-you for your reviews! They means so much!_

 _So this song is from The Verve - Bittersweet Symphony. Some lyrics kinda fit, I think, but the title more-so xD_

* * *

 **23** – _Bittersweet Symphony_

* * *

 **July 8, 1501**

 **Roma, Italy**

"You weren't kidding when you said there were more guards. I definitely don't remember seeing this much _red_ ," Catherine mused as she glanced from beneath her hood at the squad of Borgia swordsmen standing at their post. They hadn't noticed the two Assassins, strolling through the crowded streets of _Roma_. For that, she was grateful, and a bit surprised considering not long ago the "rebellion" had started, spurred by the now infamous " _Assassino"_ —the mysterious hooded figures who painted the bridge to the _Vaticano_ in red; those who fought in the shadows to liberate _Roma_. The description thus far was just of people wearing white hoods, which made things a bit difficult to hide for her and Ezio with their usual attire, so they'd opted for an extra set of a different shade. It felt a bit odd wearing grays and blue, but it was better to be safe for this venture—at least until the guards began to settle into a false sense of security again.

"You _doubted_ me?" Ezio chuckled, nudging her playfully. "But—it's a good thing. Our work has finally gained a big foot hold. The people are noticing. Already there's rumors spreading, and I've gotten word others might want to join the Order."

"Oh dear. Fresh meat."

"Now, now, we want them to _stay_ ," the Lord Auditore snickered.

"It might get a bit crowded in the safehouse if they all stay," she mused back, quirking her lip up.

He laughed, "Our former recruits are already making plans to take up their own living arrangements—Carlo has a woman he plans to marry, in fact. And Pietro is caring for his parents, I think?"

"Wait, where is he getting his coin?"

Ezio paused, blinking with brows scrunched, "From us—from our stores. You didn't know? Ah. Well… you know I've been restoring buildings and buying land, yes? We get plenty of income from it. It goes to our armory and supplies mostly, but also paying our Assassins a wage. Most of them do have other jobs to live on and acts as a cover, though. My father did it, too, remember? He was a banker during the day."

"Ah, right. No, it makes sense. I just… I never… noticed," Catherine mumbled, gaze dropping.

"It's alright, you were busy making sure they could survive. That, and I admit I had Machiavelli handle some of it… and Claudia, too—once she saw how terrible my managing was."

The redhead laughed this time, "She was always better at it than you… hmm maybe I should take it up then. I learned a little from her back home, and since I'm going to be predominantly at the safehouse… I should do more than just teach them and look after our kids."

"The system works alright, but… I wouldn't mind someone making sure everything is going alright. I do what I can to keep track at the safehouse or the banks, but…"

Catherine nodded, "No, it works good. You can go out and secure the means for our funds, find recruits, and work on missions, and I'll manage things at the safehouse. Train the recruits and make sure you all have a safe, secure place to come back to."

"I feel like you're still doing more," Ezio rumbled, frowning some, but his wife only chuckled, waving off his concern.

"I'm just doing the tedious work. _You_ have the difficult part… although, if you do honestly need my help, I'll be there."

"I know, and I love you for it. But stop fretting. Just do your best and it will be enough, I promise. And if it's enough for me—for all of us… it will be enough for you," her husband smiled gently, reaching down to take her hand and bring it to his lips for a gentle kiss on the knuckles. She made a face and he laughed. "Yes, I knew what you were _really_ thinking. Now, enough of that. Just be as you are and get ready. We're almost here."

"Where _are_ we going again, by the way? You've been calling it a surprise, but we're not that far from the _Isola_ ," Catherine mused, brow raised as she let her husband tug her along the stone pathways, keeping close to the river's edge and venturing through a small alleyway between buildings. It was far from prying eyes—especially those of guards'—and no foot traffic was going through.

"I know, but it's a _surprise_ ," the man grinned like an imp, to which she could only raise a brow, shake her head with a laugh, and let him take the lead. It wasn't much farther, thankfully, and she found herself in a small courtyard, a wall separating them from the river, and against it was a bench. Ezio bade her to sit with him, specifically on the left side. Her husband said not one word, and no matter how many looks or prods she made towards him, he remained quiet.

Then—footsteps. Catherine looked to the other entryway, peering under her hood as a cloaked figure came from the shadows. The figure paused when they saw her, but then looked to Ezio when he removed his own hood. The visitor's posture relaxed and they, too, pulled back their hood.

Catherine gasped.

" _Leo_!" she shouted, shooting up from her seat and shoving the cloth from her head. The artists' face lit up as brightly as hers had and he let out a sound of joy.

"Oh! Catherine! My dear Catherine!" he cried out, rushing forward to meet her. The two embraced, swinging around, and holding each other tight. It ended after a good, long moment and then he quickly kissed both of her cheeks before taking her hands. Tears brimmed at his eyes as he looked at her, and although concern flickered there for a moment—she didn't miss that it happened when he saw her new scars—they were filled with elation. "Oh, my dear friend! I had been so relieved when I saw Ezio, but you as well?! You made it out alive! Ah! Ezio, you are cruel! You made me worry so much when you did not answer! You nearly made me despair!"

"Wait—what!? Ezio!" the redhead snapped, throwing a glare at her husband. The man, of course, wore a cheeky grin as he came forward and wrapped both arms around the two of them. Laughter was shared before the Assassin made a motion to quiet down.

"I wanted to surprise you—both of you. You see, while I was out earlier this morning to do some scouting—you were tending to the children, remember? Well, I was heading back from the route when I heard someone calling for me," Ezio chuckled, clapping Leonardo's shoulder warmly.

The artist chuckled, "Not my most… _eloquent_ means, but I had to be careful. If the Borgia knew I was consorting with you…"

Her husband looked to her, "Leonardo is employed to the Borgia, 'Cat—not by choice, of course, but you understand?"

"Of course, of course! You would never work for a monster so willingly," the redhead nodded, squeezing her friend's hand.

"Indeed… the things Cesare has made me create! Ah, it wounds my heart deeply. I fear the carnage he will wrought with them," Leonardo sighed, shaking his head. He perked up, though, looking to the two Assassins. "But—but this is a good day! You two are alive and _well_! Or… or you have changed, but… but I am just… I feared the worst after the attack on the _Villa_ , but when I heard word of the attack near the _Castel_ … I knew it was you two. Oh! Oh, please, tell me—Is Diana alright? Did she make it out? And what of Lady Maria? And—and Claudia and her sons?"

"Ezio," Catherine sighed, turning to give her husband a deadpan stare. His grin grew wide. "You didn't tell Leo, either? Good God, why did I marry you… Ah, Leo, don't worry—Diana is perfectly fine, as are Maria, Claudia, her boys. We… lost Mario and Ottavio, but… we gained a new member—I gave birth to a son last year. We named him Mario, after his late Great Uncle."

"What!? Oh, my dear, another child! That is wondrous, happy news! But—but then… Oh, dear you were with child during the attack were you not? Oh, oh dear… wait—Oh, your Uncle Mario! And Ottavio! Oh.. Oh dear… I… you must tell me more—tell me everything! I wish to know."

"It… will take a long while, I think," Ezio chuckled, causing the artist to pause. He rubbed his beard—it was so much thicker than she remembered—and hummed aloud.

"I… I will make time. The guards may give me grievance, but they know I leave to obtain supplies or 'inspiration'. Cesare has, thankfully, given me decent leeway with my work. They only are adamant Icomplete it— _quickly_. As of late he ahs been quite satisfied with my machines, as much as I despise them."

"..Er…. 'machines'?" both Auditore asked in unison. Leonardo's brows lifted, then lowered, and his shoulders visibly fell. The two Assassins exchanged worried looks and Catherine squeezed her friend's hand gently.

"It seems I have much to tell as well… and perhaps you might be able to help me with it," he spoke wearily, gaze falling, but then motioned to the bench. "Come, come. Sit. We will talk for a little while, and if we cannot speak of it all today, then we will meet again another time."

"Alright," Catherine chuckled, smiling warmly, and the three friends moved to the wooden structure where they sat and they talked for as long as time would allow.

They spoke of everything they had passed; of the fall of their home, the loss of their loved ones, their separation, the rebuilding of their Order, the movement to free _Roma_ of the Borgia; of Mario, Caterina, and Federico's rescue, and more. Some they did leave out—in particular, the redhead's madness. It would have only worried their friend, and so they kept it to themselves, though the artist always had a lingering notion. But he knew it was for the best, and so did not ask as he ventured into his own tale, explaining how he came under the Borgia's eyes and the great, powerful, and terrible machines they had made him built. They were machines of war, and they would only bring death to all who crossed them. He had loathed himself in making them, but he could not fight, and now his creations were free to use as they saw fit. Countless more would die because of him, and so he looked to his friends, eyes pleading.

"You _must_ destroy them," he bade. "I do not know where, exactly, they have been taken, but I do know the Templars overseeing their construction. I at least have that much. I am sorry I can not give more, but… _please_ … My soul could never be at peace knowing my work—machines made by _my_ hands—caused so much bloodshed."

"Of course—of _course_ , Leo! You know we would. We can't let Cesare keep such powerful tools," Ezio nodded, wrapping an arm around his friend's shoulders.

Catherine nodded, "No kidding. Where do you think he'll turn them once he'd done using it on the rest of _Italia_? Here. We have to destroy them before he can use them. You have the locations?"

"Yes. Er… in my mind right now. I will have to return to my workshop to write them down and meet with you again tomorrow. I normally would not advise meeting here again so soon—lest the Borgia catch on. But—I have an idea. Here," Leonardo spoke quickly, moving up from his seat and pulling out a piece of chalk. His earlier worry was replaced with a vigor now as he drew a hand pointing to the left of the bench. "There. Should you see this mark on a bench, I am waiting nearby."

"Clever," the redhead chuckled, glancing down at the excellently drawn hand. As always, it made her own abilities look like child's play.

"Oh, Leonardo, I nearly forgot, but… Catherine and I lost the Codex inventions you made for us. I don't mean to impose, but…"

The artist chuckled, "Not at all. I know they helped your work immensely, and it will be no trouble to remake them, as I never forget a design… but I will need to be compensated for the materials."

"What? The Borgia aren't paying you?" Catherine scoffed.

"Very, _very_ little," he huffed, pouting some, before pausing and spinning towards them. "Ah! I nearly forgot… The Apple."

"Cesare had it, and made me use it," the redhead growled, folding her arms.

Leonardo glanced at her with a flicker of concern, then between them both, "He had me studying it this past year, raving about wanting to make it work again."

Catherine barked a laugh, "Ha! He got rid of me too soon, the bastard. But I suppose we're lucky for it if you—"

"Forgive me, I no longer have it," the artist winced. "Rodrigo came suddenly perhaps a month or two again and took it from me. I know not where."

"Damn… well, it's a clue, at least—to where it went," the redhead sighed, looking to her husband when he grasped her shoulder.

"Don't worry. We _will_ recover it in time. For now, we need to focus on destroying Cesare's power and hold on the city. Reclaiming the Apple will be easier then. And to help get a start… Here, my friend—compensation," the Assassin grinned as he pulled his coin pouch from his belt and held it out to him. "We could use extra Blades of your caliber. A _lot_ of them. Ten to begin with, if you can. We have new Assassins who need Hidden Blades of their own. I hope that should cover most?"

Leonardo glanced into the pouch, "Indeed. It will… take time—perhaps a month, to complete so many, but it can be done."

"That's more than enough. Now, take care of yourself, Leo. If you ever think you're in danger… come find us at the _Isola_. We'll keep you safe. And, if you can, just come visit to see Diana and little Mario. She misses you terrible and I've love for you to meet our son," Catherine smiled softly before embracing her friend tight. He returned it, burying his face into her neck.

"Yes, of course. Oh, how I have missed you both! We must speak again soon, if only for your new Blades… I do not think it is safe for me to send them on my own."

"We can send one of our own to pick them up if need be."

"My workshop is a bit far from here—on the northwestern edge of the city, close to the countryside. I can leave a mark, like this hand, for you to recognize it."

"Good, that will do nicely. Now, go on, my friend. We don't want the Borgia to wonder," Ezio chuckled, embracing the artist briefly, and then stepped aside to let his wife do the same.

"Be _safe_ , Leo. I want you to be able to surprise Diana one of these days," she chuckled, which Leonardo returned.

"I look forward to the day I do. Until then—safety and peace to you both."

Catherine watched her friend go, his gaze a bit uneasy as he made back to the street. It pained her to know he had to fear his so called "benefactors" and would have to sneak around to meet with them. She was relieved, though, to see him alive and well enough, even if he'd been forced to create that which went against his beliefs. One exchange of looks with her husband, though, told her he would, without fail, destroy them, and so that was one gift they could give their friend. And in turn they now had a boon—not just the return of one of their loved ones, but the one person who could produce their equipment quickly, efficiently, and in mass. Leonardo would provide the Assassins with an advantage the Borgia could never hope to meet, which made the flame of hope they'd sparked glow all the brighter.

The redhead smiled some as she suddenly slapped her the back of her hand against her husband's belly, earning a grunt and pout as he rubbed at it.

"What was that for?!"

"For not telling me it was _Leo_."

"I told you it was a surprise!" he huffed, folding his arms, and she pat one.

"Which is why I forgive you."

"Shall I warn you about the _other_ surprise then or will you still smack me?"

She paused, raising a brow, "What _other_ surprise?"

Ezio winked, "You'll see."

 **-O-**

"…Tell me again how you managed to get this all together right under my nose?"

"I have my ways," her lovable, imp of a husband hummed with delight as they entered their safehouse, which had, in the hour or two that they had been gone, transformed to look more like a banquet hall. Extra tables and chairs had been pulled into the main hallway, littered with trays of food that smelled purely delicious, and plenty of pitchers of wine or ale that might fill the many goblets provided. The halls were adorned in red flags displaying the Assassin insignia proudly. And in the center of it all? A throng of Assassins cloaked in pristine white with a flash of red that stood out like a light in the dark. That, of course, was the point; it was a call sign beyond their Blades, and every Assassin wore their garbs proudly. Hoods were down, revealing their delighted faces, the motley group breaking off to talk with whomever they pleased.

Among them were also Federico and Giovanni, who spoke fondly with both their mother and Bartolomeo. Not far from them, the mercenary's wife, Pantasilea and Lady Maria conversed upon a sofa, locked deep in some talk of whatever noblewoman of their caliber spoke of. Catherine had to pause when she took in her mother-in-law, noting she looked different than she remembered—or rather, she hadn't bothered to notice. Gray strands filled her dark veil of hair now, and her face had wrinkles she didn't remember. Her shoulders weren't held as high, nor was her posture as straight. Yet, her smile was warm and her eyes strong. Despite the creep of age, a fire still burned within. The thought brought a grin to Catherine's face as she let her eyes wander again, catching sight of _La Volpe_ in his shadowed spot, although he'd been discovered by Diana, whom was intent on pestering him with questions. Thankfully, the older man carried an amused smirk as he replied in kind. Servants brought more things out and about, but otherwise their party was complete. Machiavelli was missing, but he was a busy man, and parties were not his thing.

"I thought it would do us good—to celebrate our victory," the Assassin mused, wrapping an arm around his wife's waist. "It may be a small one, and just a small part of a very long fight… but we did something great when we escaped the _Castello_. We made a true stand. Long we've known the Borgia could bleed, but now? Now _all_ of _Roma_ knows, and _that_ is worth celebrating."

"True," Catherine chuckled, placing her hand on his as she took in the scene. Pierro and Giotto were chatting with Belloza and laughing about some joke. The burly woman made a gentle shove, and both men made playful jabs as if to start a mock fight, tag-teaming their stronger opponent. The larger of the two men looked to have healed well after the wound Micheletto inflicted on him. To their left, Jacopo smirked at Alessandra, who wore a coy smile herself. The redhead couldn't help raising a brow at that, especially when the once uncouth young man puffed his chest out—just a little; just enough to show off. Because he was. The young lady didn't mind. Catherine found Carlo off by himself, reading a book of all things as he lounged back in a chair. She hadn't taken him for the scholarly type. There was a great deal she hadn't taken many of them for, truth be told.

Ezio other hand brushed her cheek gently, "What is it? You look troubled."

The redhead blinked, not realizing she'd been staring or that she had such an expression on her face. She felt it, though, as her gaze dropped, and she let out a slow sigh.

"I just… I'm not used to seeing them like this," she chuckled. Her husband chuckled back, kissing her brow.

"Well, you were either training them, on a mission, or taking care of Diana. You didn't have much time to."

" _You_ were doing the same, though."

"Ah, well," Ezio chuckled, the guilt palpable, "I _may_ have given them more free time during my training sessions."

"Of _course_ you did," Catherine chuckled, rolling her eyes, though sobered some. "I… I'm glad—that you did, though. Someone needed to."

"Hey, none of that. Tonight… is for celebrating. So enjoy it. Meet your Assassins. You trained them well," her husband murmured, his smile gentle. "Now, come on. And don't worry—I'll do the speech."

"Oh, good, because I definitely didn't prepare one for the party I didn't know was going to happen," the redhead snorted, sending him another look. He laughed as he nudged her forward, and she walked with him to the throng of people. She held her guilt well behind a mask of calmness as eyes began to shift towards them and voices grew quiet. She and her husband had the floor, so to speak, as Ezio filled two goblets with wine and passed one to her. He then looked to the recruits, whom had their own drinks in hand already.

"Greetings, Brothers. Sisters. Comrades. Allies. Loved ones. I have called you here today for a celebration, for a great victory has been won. It may not seem much, and, perhaps, nothing at all at times, but what you all did on that bridge barely a few nights ago… you have started something far greater than you or anyone else might realize. It is but a ripple now, a murmur in the streets, but soon it will become a thunderous wave that will shake the very foundations of _Roma_. On this day we celebrate the beginning of the end of the Borgia. Once thought invulnerable, they have been made to bleed. Once thought to be gods, they are now mortal… for a God does not bleed, and this wound will be their end. It will fester and grow black, and _Roma_ will, at last, be free, and it will be because of what _you_ have done. You. Assassins. Brother and Sisters of the Order. The Madame of the _Rosa_. The commander of our mercenaries. Our charming master thief of the Sleeping Fox. Together, we have done this," Ezio spoke, his voice echoing through the stone walls. No gaze wavered from him, his words instilling a deep, unrelenting warmth that grew pride and joy in droves.

His face grew somber some, "But this was only the beginning. Our battle against the Borgia will be no easier. In fact, I imagine it will become far more difficult and the price may be great. It will not come swiftly, either. Cesare has the entire army at his disposal and the French at his side. He has the money to back it, and more. We are woefully small in comparison, but we are _stronger_ —never forget that. These men and women beside you, who train, and sweat blood and tears beside you…. There are none braver and stronger, and it is the bonds you forge here in the Order that will continue to let that strength grow to overcome our enemies. It will keep you strong for as long as it takes to bring him down and make no mistake—it will take time. Years, even, but our Order is not meant to be temporary. It is meant to last and _has_ lasted for centuries. Ours is not just a passing fancy of an ideal or a small rebellion. It is the physical manifestation of an _ideal_. A _will_ of the people that will not be manacled by anyone. And it is up to us to preserve it and ensure men like Cesare never succeed in tearing it down. This is what we fight for, and it is why Cesare and the Borgia _will_ fall."

A cheer rang out from the group, wine sloshing in their cups, splattering on the floor. Merriment was clear on their faces, and Catherine couldn't help the feeling of pride swelling in her chest. The people she'd trained looked so strong and ready—for anything. They had done something great, and they knew it. The notion would fuel them and drive them to do even greater things.

How could she have missed how much they'd grown; how they'd become something… _more_?

"Where other men follow the truth, remember… nothing is true," Ezio spoke, his voice low, as if in prayer. Goblets lowered, and all eyes focused as faces grew somber. "Where other men are limited by morality or law, remember… everything is permitted. We work in the dark to serve the light. We… are _Assassins_."

Heads bowed for a moment, the silence reverent, and then Ezio raised his goblet once more, a grin on his face.

"Long live the _Assassini_!" he bellowed, and the room echoed his words and gestures. Wine was downed, and the merriment began in suit.

Conversations were continued, while some ended and new ones brought up. The noblewomen of the safehouse were content to continue their own talk, lightly sipping their drinks, and mostly ignoring their food. Bartolomeo soon brought _La Volpe_ into his talk, who appeared to have a more acute interest in Federico than the mercenary. The boy was brighter than his brother, and trickier. He could potentially be useful to the thief, if not just his mother. Of their Assassins, it was Alessandra and Jacopo who approached the to Mentors, clasping arms, and trading trivial words of congratulations and talk of the future—of more training and more important missions; working independently, and so forth. The two had a hunger to do great deeds, and they were ready for it. There was certainly more between them than comrade as well—that is, if their request to work on missions together was anything to go by. They chalked it up to their skillsets complimenting each other well—which they did, as she and Ezio did—but Catherine had an idea. Of course, they gave their blessing and would do their best to make it happen.

Once the two "not" love birds left to lounge about and eat, the others came by. Pierro and Giotto, as was expected, wanted to work together, being brothers in far more than just the Order. They had developed a deep bond and they were stronger together than apart. They mentioned Belloza joining them for heavy duty missions, but otherwise the burly woman offered to handle ones of her own, rather determined to make a mark by herself. Carlo was content to go solo himself, and Catherine felt he could do just fine. She lamented she might not be able to adhere to all their requests depending on the mission, but she would do her best. It would be better if they had more recruits, of which she asked all their Assassins to try and bring in if or when Ezio couldn't.

But that was for later. For now, she took in what she could from their casual talk. There was much to learn, it seemed. Pierro, for one, had the family she'd only heard of today, and apparently his mother was a bit ill. He'd had an older brother before, but the Borgia had slain him—his reason for the fight. Giotta was similar, in that he'd had a younger brother, but lost both him and his parents to the Borgia or sickness of some kind. It was no wonder the two had bonded so tightly. Belloza had simply lived the life of a peasant, unable to find a husband, and watched as the Borgia ruined her family with their violence and taxes. Hers was a reasonable plight, and she hoped to prevent any from losing their families if she could help it. Jacopo, by some luck, had kept his family and even had a good job when not working as an Assassin, but this was certainly his calling—he'd spoken of quitting the shop to work for the Order full time. Alessandra came from a low-born family herself and was expected to marry a Borgia guard, but had refused him for his cruelty and now her family had nothing. She'd sworn vengeance and now worked to both help the people and kill the man who ruined her. Carlo was the last, and he was a simple farmer at heart, but his lands had been seized, and he wished to pay the Borgia back and, perhaps, reclaim his lands. With luck, the Order might help him achieve it.

All of them, regardless of where they had come from, were strong, proud, and determined individuals. They made the Order bigger—and better—than it was. She had trained them; took them from their lowest and helped bring them here.

And yet, she hadn't even known anything about them until now.

Catherine kept a smile on her face, but her gut twisted with the guilt. She had treated them like tools. Pawns. They had been but a means to an end for her, and she had nearly gotten Giotto killed. He stilled smiled and laughed with her, though; looked at her with esteem. It hurt. She should have been relieved he did, but there was only the guilt and shame. She had done awful things, and yet they still looked to her as their Mentor. She couldn't fathom it, truthfully.

"You've barely touched your wine," Ezio spoke, touching her back gently. She blinked, pushing the feelings back, but they lingered.

"Just… a lot on my mind," she replied softly, bringing the cup to her lips as if to drink, but paused instead, and took it away a moment later. "Did you know? About all of them? Their lives?"

He regarded her for a moment, taking in her visage, "Yes, I did. I would ask during break session."

"Ah… I… I'll have to make sure to get to know the new recruits like you then."

"Catherine…"

"I can't excuse what I did… and I don't want you to even let yourself tease the thought," she replied quickly, flashing him a look.

He was quiet for a few moments, "…Alright. But… don't ruin yourself over it. You can't."

"…I know. Ah," Catherine sighed, looking down at her sloshing drink. "I don't know if I'm up for more of the festivities."

"It's about Mario and Diana's bed time, if you want a good excuse to leave," Ezio chuckled, but she could hear the concern in his tone. "I'll stay and keep them occupied, if you'd like?"

"I think that would be good. Mario has been tricky to get to sleep lately, anyways. And, Ezio?" she called, reaching up to stroke the side of his face. "Don't worry. I'll be fine. Promise."

"Go on. Kiss them goodnight for me," he smiled gently before stealing his own kiss. She returned it with a smile and slipped through the crowd to the stairs. Her husband was quick to wave off any wonders of her departure with mention of their children, and so she was left unmolested as she ventured to the upper floors to their shared master suite. A maid had been left with the children for the occasion, but she was happy to relieve herself of her duties. Mario was fussing some, perhaps a bit hungry or just tired.

"How come I can't go to the party, Mama?" Diana huffed, kicking her legs lazily on her and her husband's bed.

"it's an adult party and you're far too young for it, that's why," Catherine chuckled, pulling her daughter close for a hug and a kiss on the brow. "Were you good for the maid and your brother?"

"Of course!" the young girl huffed, puffing her chest up proudly. "Mario kept trying to pull my hair, though. I don't know if I like having a baby brother."

The redhead laughed, "Oh, you will. But he's just a baby, and you did the same thing to your father. In fact, you yanked his pony tail _really_ hard once. So be good to him. He's your family, and family needs to protect each other."

"Mmm that's true. 'Rico and 'Vani are pretty close. I _guess_ we'll be like that, too," Diana sighed, peering over at her brother. "I wished he looked more like me, though. 'Rico and 'Vani look the same."

"Well, they're both _boys_ … and this just makes you two more unique. Besides, your cousins look nothing like your auntie. But you? You look like me, and your brother looks like your Papa. That's pretty special, yeah?"

"Yeah, it is," the young girl giggled, bouncing in her spot. She leaned against her mother when she went on, "It's good to have brother and 'Rico back. You, too, Mama."

"I've been here quite a while, you imp," Catherine chuckled, draping an arm over her daughter's shoulders.

"Yeah, but… you weren't, too. But now you're _really_ back. It feels like home now. This place _isn't_ home… but it feels like it."

"Ah… yes… I suppose it does," the redhead replied softly, her gut twisting once more. The ease she'd reclaimed around her children was gone, although she kept a smile on her face for her children. She didn't dare let them know how the words had driven a knife deep—straight into her soul. She didn't tell them how it made a cold prickle of fear and dismay go through her; of how the pain had gone further than she thought. She made doubly sure to not let Diana see her look to the wolf head cowl, eyes gleaming in the dark; as if ready to strike. It was a reminder, and the whispers were a calling.

It wanted her back, but she couldn't. She had to change—to get better. Somehow. If she had any hope of truly escaping them, she would have to do something.

For now, though, she forced the whispers are far back as she could get them, all the while smiling brightly at her daughter and rocking her boy to sleep. And for that night, it was enough.

* * *

 **23** – _End_

* * *

 **TMWolf:** _And there we are! Another chapter down, and a lot of things happening in what might not seem that way._

 _So. First: LEO! Finally they reunite! I almost lament we won't see TOO much of him. The story just doesn't focus on him much for what it's going to cover, but he will pop up every so often :)_

 _Now, secondly: did anyone think my little recruits were THAT bland of characters? Well, you were wrooooooooooong ;D They have their own backgrounds going on and lives, too... you, as the readers, just never got to see it because Catherine never bothered to... which is finally weighing in on her. She'd been so consumed with revenge she only ever saw her recruits as tools, but, thankfully, they don't hold it against her, and even understand where she came from to some extent. They all wanted-and still do want-revenge of their own, but they've also grown as she has and see the greater purpose to what they do._

 _So there they are. The little fledglings, now proper Assassins, and living their lives to the fullest as they help to fight to protect Rome. And Ezio and 'Cat couldn't be prouder._

 _Buuuuuuuuuuuuuut not all is too well hehe. Catherine is not_ totally _free of her demons just yet..._


	24. Lust For Life

**TMWolf:** _So, uh, I meant to update way sooner LOL oops! Sorry! But in my defense I was very busy enjoying a week of Birthday celebrations and spending time with my bff who came to visit so it's been a busy one! It was such a good week, too, and probably my best b-day every, so yay being 26 for me! xD Anyways, here's an update for you all! And just have to say, this was probably one of my favorite, if not THE fav chapter to write of the story X)_

 _Thanks for all my readers giving their reviews and comments and enjoying the story! :)_

 _This chapter's song is Lana del Rey (ft. the Weeknd) - Lust For Life. Not absolutely perfect with the lyrics, but I thought it was so good for it. Sia - Human was another good contender, but I thought Lana's song was a bit better. That or her Love one which I adore, although probably fit Chronos better xD Just gah! So many good songs for it._

 _Oh, by the way-A BIT MORE R-RATED AT THE END, SO DISCLAIMER I TOLD Y'ALL XD_

* * *

 **24** _ **–**_ _Lust For Life_

* * *

 **July 10, 1501**

 **Roma, Italy**

Catherine inhaled deeply as she adjusted her gauntlet, a small piece of her Assassin attire, but it made everything come together. Then again, she wasn't an Assassin anymore, so she probably didn't need her Hidden Blade equipment, but it felt wrong not to wear it. It was the gear she'd worn for decades now, and she felt strange in anything else. Besides, she'd need it for today—it was time to properly initiate their former recruits and she had to dress the part. After that was more training, too, and assigning first mission, so it was appropriate. Still, her doubts lingered, and when she glanced to the wolf head on her vanity, the stab grew sharper. Looking away helped, but she swore she could still hear them—the whispers.

The redhead shook her head as she stood and adjusted her things once more. A knock came at the door, and when she looked up Ezio had opened it to pop his head in. Seeing her decent, he pressed in and came to stand before her. He took her chin gently in his hand, lifting her head up while he tilted his slightly to the side and hummed thoughtfully.

"You don't need to speak if you don't want to," he spoke softly, ever able to read her—just as she could tell there was more that he meant to the question than he let on.

"No, I do. I know what you said, but… I owe them an apology for my actions—and they need recognition of their work from their Mentor. You remember how proud you were every time Mario commended your work," she chuckled, raising a slightly challenging brow.

"…Fair point," Ezio chuckle back and kissed her forehead. "Well, they should all be down there, and I put the kids to bed, so everything is ready to go."

" _You_ got them to go to sleep?"

He scoffed, "I am _quite_ capable, thank-you."

"So I see," she smiled and reached up to squeeze his hand gently. "Alright. Let's go. I've kept them waiting long enough."

Ezio stepped aside, and Catherine walked by. Her feet took her through their door and down the stairs to the lower floors. Diana and Mario were asleep, and so their room remain closed as they went by. The main floor was empty of anyone and the torches had been dimmed for the night, giving a somber shadow to the grand abode. There was an almost eerie silence that made her feet heavy with her guilt, but the presence of her lover behind her—the clack of his boots' heel against the stone—gave her resolve. He wouldn't let her turn back, and so she would not. She instead turned into the hallway leading to a second stairway that led lower. It was a bit off to the side to conceal itself some, but she knew it well. The stairs only went one way to a lower chamber—the very one used for training, although today it served another purpose.

Torches lined the room and were lit with a tall, bright frame that illuminated the stone walls in a mixture of red and gold and orange. Red banners spanned the length, the Assassin sigil etched in gold on the front. It was a callback to their own family emblem, but now served a greater purpose. Along the floor ran a rug, also painted red and flecked with gold patterns in its make. It stretched all the way to the upper section of the back, nestled between four pillars. All along the side, their recruits stood, arms clasped behind their back and chins held high. Their once meager attire was replaced with better gear—provided by both Niccolò and Leonardo. They looked like proper Assassins, and tonight, they would be.

Catherine looked to the nobleman who had helped him, the older man standing reverently in the center of the pillars where the rug ended. Before him was a small pyre, lit with a small flame. Its embers twinkled brightly, and a pleasant fragrance came from the smoke. It was said to be have been part of the ancient right since forever, although the Italian Order now used it to make a mark as opposed to simply a ritualistic smell. That, and a burn made a good replacement for the loss of a finger, although she'd heard some of their brother sects elsewhere in the world still did so.

But that was a notion to ponder another time. Tonight, she had another goal to make good on as she and Ezio approached Niccolò, nodding respectfully, and then turned to face the crowd. The recruits moved their position, aligning themselves parallel to their Mentors. Catherine regarded them all closely, the silence deafening and making her heart race. Piero. Giotto. Belloza. Carlo. Jacopo. Allessandra. Six Assassins. With her and Ezio, it made eight. Just years ago, they had been the only two working in all of _Italia_ , and even then her husband had often worked on her own while she cared for their child and watched over their home. But now? Now they had quadrupled, and it seemed like a dream. All of it—even the fall of their city. Their former home. Yet, she knew this was real; so very, very real. A mixture of sorrow, pride, and a small glimmer of hope came over her, and it did well to bite back the guilt she felt when she met her former students' eyes.

"You have been summoned here today for a… momentous occasion. Today you will truly join us. You will no longer be recruits but Assassins of the Order. Brothers. Sisters. You will be those who work in the dark to serve the light. From this day forth you will act on your own for the Order. You will take down your targets on your own tenants. Your actions will be your own. Your choices will be your own. Your consequences will be your own. No rules will bind you, save the three tenants of our Order. You will do what no one else can, and with this power you will create the change that frees not only _Roma_ and her people, but all of _Italia_ and those around us. Our Order does not pertain to one place. Just as the tyranny of the Borgia can be found elsewhere, be it another name, another cause, _we_ will be there to fight it. For we are Assassins, and this is the gift of power we have been given.

She paused to take in a shaky breath, "But… with this power comes consequence. Responsibility. As I told you, your consequences are your own, and you, above all others, know what power may do to a man. We are but human, and we can be weak. And when a weak man—or an even weaker woman—gains power… it corrupts. Corrodes. It makes you sick and makes you lose your sense of self. What you once used for justice is now used for tyranny. Laws are bent, broken. A blade stayed from the innocent no longer knows the difference. A call for the death of a tyrant cannot tell who is the oppressed. Your eyes become clouded with hate and greed and madness."

Catherine's gaze faltered, the silence thickening, but she licked her lips and went on, "I tell you this because _I_ succumbed to that madness, and I was one of the lucky few who managed to find myself again—to pull away from the dark lull, and it is a terrible, addicting thing. I let the power change me—change what I stood for, and I have done terrible, cruel things… and I stand before you now both as your Sister, your Mentor, and your example. Do _not_ forget the depth of the power you hold. Do _not_ forget what you have been blessed with this power for. It is not for ourselves. It is not for your vengeance, your retribution, your recompense—whatever you want to call it. Our power is for the oppressed—to free them off their chains and ensure that the people are _free_. And so, in the wake of my warning, I ask for your forgiveness for what I have done and swear that I will do all I can to repay you all. For now, I hope to do so by teaching you all I have to offer and any new Sisters or Brothers who will join you one day… should you allow it."

The silence came back, but there was an awkwardness to it as the former recruits glanced amongst one another. Many brows raised and odd looks were exchanged.

Ezio coughed, "She's asking if you still want her, after having just about broken the tenants of our Order, to be your mentor and teach future recruits."

"Er… sorry for our confusion. It's just… there was nothing to particularly _apologize_ for to begin with," Piero hummed, head tilting. "You'd explained things before to us."

"I mean, _we_ do definitely understand why you did what you did," Alessandra shrugged. "We've all lost someone. And after everything that happened…"

"Not that we don't appreciate it, Mentor, and we're glad you're better, although it's pretty strange to have you not yelling at us as much," Giotto added with a grin and a shrug of his own.

Jacopo scoffed, "You're still a better fighter than us, so probably best you keep teaching us."

"Ha! You finally admit it!" Carlo bellowed, slapping his shoulder.

"Oi! Keep in line man, we've got our chance to answer, but we're still in a ceremony for God's sake! Lord Machiavelli is even here!" Belloza scoffed, sending searing glares that brought the motley crew into line ago. She turned her now neutral gaze to meet Catherine's. "You are our Mentor, Lady Auditore. You always have been, and we will heed your warnings and do all we can to uphold the Creed. We fight for the people, no longer ourselves."

"It seems you have your answer," Niccolò mused from behind, and when the redhead looked back, she could see the smallest flicker of a smile on his stalwart visage. Catherine couldn't keep her own back as a weight was lifted, although some still lingered. It was lighter, though, and she could hold her head high as she regarded her new comrades.

"Then so be it. I will remain as your Mentor, both providing your training and your missions," she spoke—more proudly this time, and then turned to Ezio. "Just as Ezio will be your Mentor in our ways and our Creed, helping you to walk this path and not waver from it, just as he did for me. He will also be the one to _properly_ induct you into our order."

With that, the redhead back up to stand by Niccolò, arms braced behind her back while Ezio came forward, his face beaming with joy and pride. The nobleman shared a look with her, and then returned forward as the Master Assassin began to speak,

" _Laa shay'a waqi'un moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine_ ," he began, his voice echoing through the solemn halls, a quiet settling over them. "The wisdom of our Creed is revealed through these words. We work in the dark, to serve the light. When you undertake our oath, you will devote yourself to this life, and to following our tenants. They are the three rules that bind us, not only to protect the people, but to ensure the success of our work, the mastery of our emotions, and the safety of our Brotherhood. Listen well and remember: Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent. Hide in plain sight. Never compromise the Brotherhood. Know these. Engrave them in your mind and upon your blade. Never forget them. And never forget that which guides us most: Nothing is true; everything is permitted. Most of all, though, know this: _We_ are Assassins.

He paused as the former recruits repeated their maxim, his chest swelling with joy, "Now, may the first come forward, and earn your mark."

Piero was the first, and he walked up the steps with a bright smile on his face, a young man proud to do this work. He was as much of an asset as any of them, and Catherine knew he would go on to do great things. He took the burn on his ring finger with but a wince and a chuckle and that was it.

He was an Assassin.

And soon enough, they all were, marked by the dark ring on their hand. All that remained was one, final task—the one that proved one's true worth as an Assassin. For it, though, they had to venture all the way back up to the rooftop, ascending stair after stair until they reached the door and opened it to reveal the dark, moonlit sky. At the edge of the tower's top was a platform, and down below, the water of the Tiber River. They had already spoken of the final step before, and so Piero, first to receive the mark, was the first to come to the wooden construct. He didn't hesitate as he spread is arms—like wings—and took flight. His faith in his Brotherhood—in their assurance he would survive—was confirmed with a leap and a resounding splash below.

The others followed in suit, one by one, until only Ezio, Catherine, and Niccolò remained. Like the Lord Auditore and even herself much later, the six individuals had become truly a part of the Order. They were Assassins, and from then onward, they served a much higher purpose.

Catherine, of course, was just relieved to have found only understanding with her former trainees, and no longer felt unsure of her footing. There was still a ways to go, and the guilt would serve as a reminder, but it was clearer now—the path. She had her husband and allies to help her, too, and just looking into Ezio's eyes as he took her hand once it was all said and done gave her strength. It carried her all the way back to the main floor of the hide out, where their Assassins were gathered, dripping with the waters of the Tiber. They looked like a soppy mess, but their grins and chuckles made for a different story.

"You are all free to celebrate as you wish… but remember that your families and loved ones cannot know—for their own safety. There _are_ exceptions, but we ask you come to us first. It is not an easy life to live. I never knew of my father's work as an Assassin until after his death and it was… difficult to understand—at first. But know it is for a greater purpose and for _them_. You fight for _them_. Never forget," Ezio spoke, his voice echoing again. He grinned not a moment later, though, "But tonight feel free to forget the pain and enjoy yourselves… and dry off. Just report here first thing tomorrow for your first _proper_ missions."

"Yes, Mentor!" came their unison cry, and that was that.

"I have much work to do, so I must take my leave now, but I first I offer my congratulations. You both did well, and you have found good, strong Assassins. You should both be very proud of what you have accomplished here," Niccolò spoke up once they had reached the stairs, bringing the two Master Assassin's focus to him. "I admit… while I had confidence in your abilities… I was not certain it could be done, and yet here I stand. You will need more Assassins, though—if you wish to truly end the Borgia's reign and that of others."

"I had planned to search for more recruits starting tomorrow, and to have our new Assassins find them, too. With luck, we'll find six more and Catherine can whip them into shape in time," Ezio chuckled, moving his arm from her hand to around her shoulder.

"I have a better idea of how to train them all now, too. Although, I suppose we need to figure out what to _do_ with all of them by then. We really only need the six for here, I would think."

The nobleman hummed, moving past them, "I will leave that decision to you—they are yours to command, after all."

"Of course. I imagine we won't see you quite so much around here then… But do come back to visit Diana—she always enjoys your company

"I will do my best, although I may be even more occupied soon with matters of the fairer sex."

Catherine paused, torn between shock and confusion, "'Matters of the'… Oh! _Oh_. Niccolò, are you getting _engaged_?"

"Perhaps. If all goes well. A fine noblewoman. And rather keen. I have been lucky enough to enjoy conversation with her, and I find her quite handsome."

"Oh, boy… If you ever need tips on wooing a woman, let me know, Machiavelli," Ezio chuckled, although his wife rolled his eyes.

"No, come to see _me_. Ezio will just tell you sleep with other woman and make sure she knows so she gets _jealous_ which is supposedly meant to make her confess."

"I appreciate the offer, but I am quite alright," the nobleman chuckled, shaking his head. He straightened his shoulders and adjusted his tunic. "Now, I must be off. I will send any requests or missions via the pigeons… and will make a point to see Diana more if I am able. Until then, safety and peace be to you both."

"Safety and peace," Catherine hummed back as her husband did, and once their friend was gone, she let out a deep sigh, and fell into Ezio's side. He chuckled, squeezing her shoulder and kissing her brow.

"I know how you feel. That was very brave of you. But I told you that you didn't need to worry," he snickered as he urged her forward. She followed him down the steps.

"I know, I know, but… ah, well, it's done and over with. We have new Assassins, more recruits to come, and plenty of work to do. I just hope we can make waves against the Borgia sooner rather than later."

"Sadly, I imagine it might take a long while—even _years_. You remember how _Venezia_ went?" Ezio sighed, pausing to let his wife make an unhappy sound. "Regardless, we need to focus on our efforts. The stronger we make the Order, the stronger we'll hit Cesare and his Templars."

"We'll have plenty to do. Leonardo does need us to destroy his War Machines. It could take _months_ at a time to do that," the redhead also sighed, tilting her head slightly. She shrugged a moment later. "Ah, let's save it for tomorrow. I want to sleep, truth be told. That took a lot out of me for not doing much."

Ezio chuckled, kissing her cheek, "Same. Come, then. Let us rest our bones."

"It sounds so morbid when you say it like that. I'm not _that_ old. And neither or you," she snorted, patting his belly, which was still firm even under his belts.

"Ah, but beautiful women are blessed with youth, unlike us men," he hummed as he made for the stairs, walking up with her one step after the other.

"Yeah, save that for when you hit sixty, buster. You're fit as a fiddle still, and I don't want my recruits thinking their Master here is old and feeble. It sets a bad example."

"Oh is _that_ why? Well, I'll do my best to keep in shape then," he laughed, shaking his head.

She laughed with him for a moment before settling into a calm silence, the only sound the echo of their heels on the wooden steps. The squeak of their door soon joined it, along with the thud of armor and equipment being pulled off and set down. Both collapsed down onto their bed once down to but their undershirt and pants and let out deep sighs. Catherine sat up after a moment, a small smile on her face that caused Ezio's brow to raise.

"What is it?" he asked softly, reaching over to brush his thumb across the top of her hand.

She shrugged, "Nothing, I guess. Just… feeling… good. Yeah."

"Good. Get some sleep then. You have to wake the children up this time," he snickered playfully, earning a look and a snort.

" _Uh-huh_ ," she snickered as he settled down himself. She knew he was waiting for her fully, but she waited a bit. Her eyes peered into the dark—to the single, gleaming yellow orb. Her body felt cold as fear seized her; the icy anticipation of what was to come, yet there was a small flicker of hope.

For a moment, she thought it was done.

But then—a whisper. Quiet, and weak, but there.

It was still there; still calling her.

It wasn't enough.

She had to do more—but _what_?

Catherine withheld her sigh as she lay back, squeezing her eyes, and wishing it would stop. She had made it _better_ , but what more was there to be done? How could she be rid of the voices? The call? The reminder of what she had been? She had to get rid of it somehow. She couldn't risk hearing the lull; couldn't risk falling back to that dark place. She _had_ to be free of it and grow into something better than who she truly was.

The answer confounded her as the hour waned, and no sleep would come. There was only the occasional call for her from the wolf's maw, and her caterwaul to push it back. She was stronger, she was certain, but who knew what countless blows could do? How long could she hold strong? What if the Borgia did something to her again? To Ezio? To her children? Her family? Would she ignore the Wolf? Would she remain strong? Or would she crumble and succumb to madness at its beckon?

She had to be rid of it.

Catherine sat up, having been tossing and turning in her fruitless attempt to sleep. She brought her knees to her chest and stared at the mask. It was calling to her, even now, and she could recall clearly the pure joy she'd felt killing her enemies; the insatiable lust for their blood. She had wanted it so badly, but now? Not it frightened and disgusted her, and it didn't feel enough to simple toss away the white pelt. No, she'd always remember it somehow—she'd try to find it. Maybe. Probably. It was impossible to say, but just the _possibility_ was too much.

She had to destroy it. Completely. Utterly.

Her head lifted, a shine to her iris as she sucked in a quiet breath of air. Beside her, Ezio stirred, jolting a little, but then calming. He looked to his wife, calling her name softly. She didn't look to him—not right away, and it worried him. But then she turned to face him, a look he hadn't seen before in her eyes, and took his hand to squeeze it, almost like a vice.

"I need you to come with me."

He opened his mouth to ask why, but then closed it, took in his wife, and nodded instead, "Alright. Armor?"

"No. Just your shirt. And boots," she explained, slipping from the bed to button her shirt proper and slip her shoes on. He did the same and turned towards her just as she approached the wolf mask. His heart thumped quickly.

"Catherine?"

She breathed in slowly, the call stronger, but her resilience was stronger, "Go ahead and ready horses for us—I'll be right behind you. Promise."

He watched her for another moment, then gave a quiet "alright". She was left be, just her and the mask. She'd been alone before, but it felt different now. It was trying so hard to make her submit. It wanted her to come back rather than be rid of it. It was a strange thing, thinking how hard it wanted to survive; how badly it wanted to live.

Vengeance was a poison that didn't want to be cured.

Catherine closed her eyes, breathing in deeply, and when she opened them again, the wolf pelt seemed different— _less_ than it was. Just white fur, stained with red, and a single eye. The voice was there, but weak, and when she grasped the matted fur in her hand, it felt cold. She turned, the hood dangling by her side, and didn't stop walking until she reached the stables where Ezio had her horse ready and waiting. He didn't ask questions as she took the reins, paused to look at a nearby lantern, and pulled it free from it's hook. She hoisted herself up, tethering the wolf mask to the saddle while handling the light in one hand and her horse with the other. She met her husband's gaze as he, too, mounted, and then spurred her horse onwards at an easy trot through the streets.

The hour was late, the crescent moon high, and the cobbles stone roads empty, giving an eerie quiet to the city. Catherine's mind made little note of it, though, as she pushed her steed through a short section of the middle-class area of _Roma_ and over the river to the countryside. There, buildings gave way to long stretches of flat roads nestled between tall hills and ridges. In the distance was the enormous _Colosseo_ , standing tall and strong even after so many years had passed. It was to there she rode towards, minding any guards on the road by steering clear. She veered southward along the outer rim of the structure, heading towards a section of abandoned homes. There, she finally brought the horse to a stop, staring at one in particular. Ezio came up beside her, watching her intently in the silence.

She breathed in deeply and slowly, "This was where they took me—threw me to the wolves."

Ezio felt his heart hammer and blood run cold, and he thought she might go on, but she didn't. His gut twisted with the guilt, of realizing how he might have stopped it, and yet knowing he couldn't have. He watched her as she looked to a higher hill further off to the south, away from prying eyes, and turned her horse towards it. He followed her lead, never questioning a moment as she came up to a nearby set of thick brush and trees. No guards would easily notice them as they dismounted. Catherine gave her reigns to Ezio, picking sticks and branches into her hand instead. The wolf hood was fastened to her belt as she worked, the lantern on the other. It took longer than she'd like, and Ezio thought of offering to help, but her movement were with great purpose and need, so he let her create her hearth, forming a dirt spot to set the wood in. Once it was complete, she pulled the lantern free and tossed it on the center.

The shatter of glass sparked a small flame that soon grew bright and big and hot. It crackled loudly, and, after another long moment, Catherine took her wolf hood and tossed it into the fire.

She heard the scream.

It was deafening; a final caterwaul; the dying cries.

It begged her to save it—to surrender and return to the madness. But it was only for a moment, and then there was only the sound of the fire crackling. She breathed in, not realizing she'd been holding it, and it was like a weight had lifted. The voices were gone, shattered, and burned. The pelt was turning black in the flame, and the eye was shut.

The tears came without her realizing it, and they didn't stop. She chocked back a sob, but then let the next go freely. Ezio was by her at once, taking her hand in his and reaching up to cup her cheek, turning it towards him. She leaned into the touch, squeezing her eyes shut, though it did little to ebb the stream.

"I did _terrible_ , _awful_ things—to people. To Diana. To _you._ I let myself get lost and hurt you. I hurt _you_ , Ezio. I did those terrible things to you. I almost lost all of you because of what I did. I almost got our Assassins killed. I don't deserve to be here—I don't deserve _you_ or Diana… or even Mario."

"No, Catherine, you _do_. Believe me, you do," Ezio smiled softly, never breaking her gaze.

"How can you say that?"

"You know why, and but I'll tell you again," he chuckled, pressing his forehead to hers. "Because you came _back_. You didn't give in. You didn't kill Lucrezia when you wanted it more than anything. You stayed your Blade, and you came _back_. You didn't give in. Not completely. You resisted all this time, and you've already started working to become better. _That_ counts more than anything."

"Still… how can you forgive me for what I did? How can Diana?"

"Because Diana loves you, and just wanted her mother back. And because _I_ love you, Catherine. More than anything. And I will _never_ give up on you. Ever. So look to me if you need strength, and know we will always forgive you," he smiled, stroking her cheek as he wiped away a tear. Catherine couldn't help a blush, hidden by the dark, and smiled back. She reached up to touch the side of his face as well.

"You're too good to me," she replied softly, and pressed her lips to his. He returned it in kind, dropped his hand to wrap his arms around her waist. They savored the moment, a different flame kindled, and pulled back to remain at an embrace.

"And I'll never stop being good to you. Now… are you… alright?" he murmured, keeping their foreheads touching.

"…Better. And tired. Definitely better, though—more than before."

He grinned, "Good… then let's head back."

Catherine smiled, "Yeah. Let's head home."

They left then, the fire burning low, but burning true; turning the white fur to ash, and in the night, there was only silence.

 **-O-**

 **August 01, 1501**

 **Rome, Italy**

"Wait— _you're_ teaching us to fight?"

Catherine almost laughed. Almost. Her lip did quirk upwards, though, as she regarded the young upstart. He was probably the youngest of them, perhaps barely eighteen with only a bit of a beard growing. He had some bulk to him already, though, and wore clothes dirty and scruffy like he'd been working on a farm. It's possible he had been. He had oddly dirty blonde hair with lighter eyes, but his skin was golden tan. He reminded her a bit of Ezio in terms of physique, which would work well in his favor. Next to him was a woman, perhaps in her twenties, and rather lithe. It might not go well for her during the training, but Catherine would do what she could to ensure she succeeded and thrived—should she stay.

"Yes, _I_ am your Mentor. Just as I have trained your Brothers and Sister here today," the redhead replied, motioning to Piero, Giotto, and Belloza. The others had been sent on missions, but the trio had decided to meet the new recruits and train some more. "Under my guidance, they have become fine Assassins… and so too, will you both, should you prove your worth. The training will be grueling and test you in ways you never have been before. If you choose to back out, none will hold ill will, but if you endure… well, let's just say the Borgia will have another reason to watch over their shoulder."

"If you don't believe her, then take it from me, kid—she's the real deal. And she'll prove it, too," Piero snickered, nudging the young man, who shot a quick glare, then regarded the redhead.

"Alright. Yeah. Prove it."

Catherine sighed and stepped down towards the young man. Her Assassins grinned among themselves as they backed off—Piero tugged the new girl to give her the memo, which she did a bit shyly—and she took up position across from the young man.

"Your name?"

"Alfonso," he barked, keeping stiff in his lack of stance. He didn't look a fighter, but Ezio had seen potential in him.

"Well then, Alfonso. Come. Allow me to prove myself," she smirked, ever so slightly. "Or are you all talk?"

The words hit him as she expected, and he made his first strike. It was very sloppy, but it had strength behind it, which was probably enough for the Borgia goons—especially if he wielded a bludgeon of some kind. But it wouldn't always work, and if it was a Captain, he'd be dead. So, it was almost too easy for Catherine as she dodged and tripped him, sending him tumbling. He was shocked by it, but scrambled up, thought better about his attempt, and tried again. This time she made a point to grab his wrist when she dodged and twisted his arm back. A swift kick to the back of his knee and he went down. She grabbed his shirt collar, too, pulling him back.

"Well?" she chuckled.

"Let go! That hurts!" he hissed but didn't struggle much. Catherine smirked a little as she relented, releasing his limb and letting him up.

"…Wow, you went easy on him. Where was _that_ when we're recruits?" Giotto snorted, folding his arms.

"I've… decided to _change_ my methods," she replied wryly. "Don't pout. And as for you, Alfonso… have I made my point?"

"Ah… yeah," he grumbled, rubbing his wrist.

"Good. Well then, since we do have our veterans here… how about a special type of training for you three— _you_ will train _them_."

"Huh?" came the unison reply.

The redhead laughed, "With my supervision, of course… but what better way to prove you truly know what you know until you train another? I'll give you the exercise and the movements, then you need to work to improve them. I'll adjust as I see fit and keep track of progress. I don't have much anything _new_ to teach you, anyway—at least not until our Architect makes any new gear for us."

"Seems fair enough," Belloza shrugged.

"Then what say you two? Care to be taught by your Mentor and practice with the best I've to offer you?" Catherine inquired of her two new recruits, whom didn't say much beyond somewhat unsure nods. "Then it's settled—well, except for one thing. What is your name, my dear?"

"Ah, it's, um, M-Mella," she replied softly, rubbing her arm nervously.

"Good. A fine name. Now, come. Let us begin and see what kind of Assassins we can make of you."

It was a decent idea, and she found it worked well enough. Catherine had Belloza pair off with Mella to begin with, figuring the young woman would be more comfortable with another despite Piero matching her physique more. Alfonso was paired with both men, trading off as needed depending on what he was working on; either speed or strength. Catherine focused first on their stances and movements, and then pushed them towards particularly close combat maneuvers, since they would be most beneficial with the Hidden Blades and when escaping someone who might catch up to them. Of the two, Mella struggled the most, and, again, the Mentor had her doubts, but she wouldn't quit until the woman did. Alfonso had more potential, but she could see it was all a bitch much, but then again, it always was the first day. She was exceedingly glad—and proud—to see her former students doing a splendid job of instructing. Even Belloza, who was not a patient woman, was taking great pains to ensure Mella succeeded. It was a good sign, and one that proved her worth as a teacher herself.

It did her heart good, and it was made even better when she heard voices from the stairway. She looked up just as Ezio descended, Diana holding his hand as she walked beside him and Mario nestled in his arm. He'd had the children today, tasked with taking them to their Aunt and Grandmother's, and visiting Leonardo if allowed. The artist finally met them but a week ago, and their daughter was adamant about seeing him, too.

"Mama!" the redhaired child squealed as she released her father's hand and took a leap into her mother's arm. She swung her around, smiling brightly as she placed a kiss on her cheek.

"Ah! My sweet little girl! How was your visit?" she inquired, though paused when she noted her daughter had her boy's attire on. She raised a brow at her husband, her smile turning wry. "And how did your Aunt and Grandma take you not wearing a dress?"

"They were cross!" she giggled impishly. "But I felt like looking like you and Papa today!"

"It was fine. They knew it was coming, and Federico vouched for her despite his mother's glare," Ezio snickered, coming close to kiss Catherine's brow.

"How's he doing?"

"Good. Still… not what he was, but he's happy to help his mother protect the girls and get rid of the rowdy customers. He can do that well enough, and Giovanni visits more."

"That's good to hear. Claudia must be so happy—Maria, too."

"Me, too! 'Vani never comes here much but now I can see 'Rico whenever I want!" Diana grinned, though paused to look at the trainees. "Oooh, Mama, are those new recruits?"

"Uh-huh. Mella and Alfonso. I'm having Piero, Giotto, and Belloza do the hard work this time, though—to prove I did a good job. I'm hoping for some great things from them."

"Ooh, clever. Not a bad thing, considering we didn't have much for them to do this week," Ezio hummed, shifting Mario slightly.

Catherine reached over to brush his head gently, "Unfortunately… it's as I feared— _Roma_ is too big for six and more to come. We need to think of something to do about it."

Her husband grinned, "You'll come up with something, no doubt."

"Uh-huh. Leave me with the hard work," she snorted, giving him a look, but then turned her attention to her daughter, whom clutched her shirt tight as she looked at the group. "What is it, Diana?"

"Um," she started, fingers rubbing nervously. "I… I wanna train, too!"

"Ah," Catherine mused, looking to her Assassins. Her lip curved upward after a moment, "Well… I suppose it couldn't hurt—we did promise we would let you. And it may not be your next birthday, but I think we can let that slide."

Diana's eyes went wide—Ezio's a little, too, though he grinned—and she let out an excited squeal of delight, bouncing in her arms. Catherine laughed as she put her down, taking her hand in hers to just keep her in place. She turned to her husband with a smirk.

"Seems I have a new recruit."

"Seems you do. Go on then, we'll watch. Do your best, Diana," Ezio beamed, much to his daughter's delight.

"Yes! Come on, let's go, Mama!" the girl laughed, tugging Catherine along. She laughed right on with her, and after giving a quick explanation to her Assassins—whom found it amusing, knowing Diana quite well now—began to work the young girl.

It was, perhaps, her greatest test as a teacher. Diana wanted to do anything and everything all at once, her attention every which way. She was eager, though, which was good, and Catherine mostly struggled to keep her still long enough to work on her stance. Once that was settled, it drifted into close combat like the rest, which was a bit trickier for her to manage, but she was putting all her effort into it. She was a promising trainee, that was for sure, and Catherine knew she'd received the fierce resolve her parents had. Again, the redheaded mother's pride swelled, though tenfold this time around. This was her daughter, after all, proving to be capable of being both an elegant lady in the making, and a fierce warrior to come. And when she looked to her husband, she could see him smiling with the same pride and joy, and even if his sister or mother might disapprove, they would gladly teach Diana all she desired and bring her into the fold when she came of age and was ready.

Catherine wiped her brow, sweat dribbling off it in nearly droves after hours of practice. Her recruits were equally exhausted, collapsed on the ground, panting hard and sweating even more than she was. Her Assassins were tired, too, but holding it together. And her daughter? It seemed she had boundless energy as she stood there, eagerly waiting for more and more and more. It was enough of a sight to bring a laugh out of her as she pat the girl's head gently.

"I think that's enough for today, my dear," she chuckled, standing upright to roll her shoulders and turn to her students. "Alright, well done everyone. You survived your first day, that's something to be proud of. Go on and get washed off, grab some food, and return home to rest. Trust me—you'll need it. And do your best to be here on time tomorrow."

Mella and Alfonso could only nod and weakly rise as the others gave their congrats. Diana pouted, but that was to be expected, and her mother only grinned as she took her hand and returned to her husband's side, whom still wore the look of pride and deep affection. It made her heart flutter.

"If you would be so kind, dear husband, I am _sorely_ in need of a bath after that. Diana is, too, truth be told, so if you could take care of that while I clean up?"

He took her free hand, kissing the knuckles, "I may be of service for that."

"Thank-you," she grinned and then gave Mario and Diana both a kiss before ascending the stairs ahead of them. She didn't worry for her recruits, both having been given a proper talk about the Order beforehand, and certain they would be fine getting home on their own. For now, she focused on making it up the stairs, her body a bit weary from practicing for so long. Thankfully, she did make it, and had to snicker a little at how late the hour had become—moonlight was flickering through the windows and her room was dark. She quickly mended that by lighting a few candles and then started the flow of water to the tub. It would take some time to fill, so she used the moment to stretch her limbs and get off her main gear.

"Mind if I help?"

Catherine jumped, clutching at her chest, and laughed, "Ezio! Geez, you spooked me."

"What? _Me_? But I'm such a sweet, innocent man," he winked, sauntering closer as she began to unbutton her vest

She rolled her eyes, pulling the blue material off, "Oh, please. You're the _least_ innocent man in the world."

"And you love it," he purred in return, reaching for her shirt before she could and plucking the first button free. "Or have I been mistaken all these years?"

"Tsk. You know I can't say I don't," she pouted, although couldn't help noticing how his eyes roved over her ever so slightly. Her heart raced again, cheeks growing warm.

"Good, because I love being your naughty, naughty man," he chuckled, motioning with a hand for her to turn around, which she obliged. He gingerly pulled her undershirt down, but instead of tugging it completely off, his hands lingered along her nape. He drew them down slow and gentle, caressing her skin with his fingertips. Her body tensed, eyes closing, and when his lips found her neck a moment later, she instinctual gasped. Her heart beat faster as hands and mouth drew lower, placing distinct kisses and touches on the scars there. Her shirt fell to the floor once free, and she found herself before him. His eyes found hers, and the intensity there stole her breath once again. His lips came close to hers, but strayed just enough away she couldn't take them in. His hands trailed along her sides and belly, making sure to find each and every scar until they latched onto her belt, undoing it, and urging her pants down.

"Your bath is ready," he hummed, rather impishly, and moved past her to turn off the water. She huffed slightly, cheeks hotter than the water, and shimmied off her clothes. She made a point to hold her head high as she came to the tub, leaning her hands on it, and gave him a look.

"What? You're not going to join me?"

"Oh, no, I am… I just simply wish to enjoy the view first," he smirked back, an approving look as he ogled her form again. It was almost wrong how easy he made her feel both incredulously shy and yet endlessly confident under his gaze. Either way, she reached over, tugging his shirt.

"That's funny—so do _I_. Don't keep me waiting now."

"As you wish," he growled softly, and relented. She, too, took her time savoring the sight of him, while also helping with the buttons. It made it all too easy to draw her own hands across his torso, his chest and abdomen still perfectly toned after all these years. She'd dare to say he'd gained some bulk, too, broadening his shoulders some, and filling his biceps out a bit. It was enough to stir something within her loins that had withered for some time and gave her a thrill as she stepped back into the tub, using a finger to summon her husband in as he slipped his pants and boots off.

"Careful, you're _awful_ tempting right now," he cooed, stepping in and settling down at the rear. With a small tug he turned her around and set her in his lap in front of him. He took the towel on the edge once she was comfortable, and slowly drew it along her body, wiping the grime and sweat away. While his hands worked, making their way downward, his mouth found her neck again, lips brushing her skin, and making her blood burn in the best kind of way. A sigh escaped her, and she felt his own loins stirrings as well. "Have I told you how beautiful you are, Catherine?"

She shifted in his lap, turning around to straddle him, and ran wet fingers through his hair, "Many, many times…. But you haven't _shown_ me."

"Well, allow me to rectify my grievous error," he husked, hand tangling into her released hair, and kissed her hard, deep, and passionate. She returned it in kind, latching her arms around his neck while his other hand found her leg. A fire was started, and it wasn't to be contained within such a small tub. Indeed, it wasn't long before he had her up in his arms, and then settled back onto the smooth sheets of their bed. The passion hardly ebbed, but rather increased into an inferno that quickly and surely consumed them in a flurry of moans, joyous cries, inexplicable pleasure, and the twisting and entwining of bodies. And when it passed, they were left tired and filled with the fading embers of ecstasy's aftermath. There Ezio had shifted them to be embraced under the sheets, his arm across her belly while he lay on his own, making it easier to look at her peaceful expression.

"It's been far, faaar too long," she purred, thumb brushing over the hand he kept on her belly while the other rubbed his beard.

"Indeed… I have missed _this_ … and you more," he spoke softly, to which she returned a small smile and leaned over to kiss him gently.

"I know. Me, too… it's good to be back. _Really_ back…"

"You were definitely yourself today. I could see it—when you were training them and Diana. She was shining, but it held no candle to you. She'll become a great Assassin. And… well, as much as I hate to say so, our enemy will last, so I will be happier knowing she can defend herself. The others, too," he chuckled a bit ruefully.

"With luck, we can protect her from it, but… yes, it's better she has the power to stand strong. Although, really, I'd rather we just go on those adventures like we originally planned, even if means involving Pieces of Eden," Catherine laughed.

"It might not be such a bad idea—traveling the world. Going to other countries. It would expand our knowledge, and who knows? We could finally connect with some of the other Orders finally," he shrugged before pushing up to hover over her and then descended on her neck, mouthing and nipping playfully. "But for _now_ , my dear kitty-Cat… I think we should do a different kind of _exploring_ …"

"Is that so?" she purred back, fingers drawing along his back as his mouth moved to her collar and then further down. Yet, even as her senses started to focus on the pleasure growing at her breast, a revelation came to mind. " _Oh_. I just figured out how to deal with having too many Assassins here."

Ezio made a groan that was mixed between annoyance and strained disappointment, "I'm here _pleasuring_ your breasts, and _that_ 's what you're thinking of?"

"Oh, hush, and listen: we'll have too many Assassins here at the rate we're recruiting, so let's send them _elsewhere_. Spread them around _Italia_ , forming new branches, bringing in new recruits. Let's send them to the other Brotherhoods across the continent—connect them all. We'll have the numbers to send out with how we're going. We can make it work. It'll take years, probably, but it's a good solution."

He wanted to be upset. Really, he did, but he saw the ingenuity, and so sighed and flopped on his back next to her. She grinned impishly as she turned onto her side, posting on her elbow, and making circles on his chest with her fingers. He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, then to the ceiling and waved his hand.

"Yes, yes, it's the right idea, and we should do it—starting _tomorrow_. Now let me be a little upset you interrupted me."

"Such a baby," she sighed, rolling her eyes, but before he could retort, she shifted and slipped over him so she straddled his hips. That got his brow raised curiously. "Now, don't ever say I wasn't good to you. Here's to _repay_ you for being a good boy and listening."

"And pray tell what that—," he began, smirking, but was caught off as she kissed him hard. He hummed happily and kept on doing so as her kisses moved to his jawline, then his neck and collar, to the chest, and lower still. He closed his eyes as she inched further down and grasped the sheets tight.

" _Oh_."

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 **24** – _End_

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 **TMWolf:** _Now THIS was a fun chapter, hehe... Catherine is finally rid of her demons and can completely heal. She's on a good start, too. So not too much this chapter, but some important set up for things to come, aaaaaaand most importantly... Don't know if anyone noticed, but this is the first time they'd had sex since before_ _Monteriggioni fell. Ezio and 'Cat haven't been intimate once beyond kisses, so this is a huge step and repairing their own relationship X) They're on the mend for sure hehe_

 _So until next time~_


	25. The Politics & The Life

**TMWolf:** _Update time! Like I said before, updates are more timely as I've finished writing! :) Not too much juicy stuff this chapter or game-wise, so to speak, but it's good and kinda important filler, so enjoy!_

 _As always, I do my best to stick to canon, adjusting as my story sees fit!_

 _Thank-you for reading and reviewing! X)_

 _This chapter is from the King Arthur Legend of the Sword Sound track - The Politics & The Life_

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 **25** – _The Politics & The Life_

* * *

 **August 28, 1501**

 **Rome, Italy**

"Guess what arrived?"

Catherine looked up from her spot at their mission hub, surrounded by maps, papers, books, and a few pigeon carrier cages, all of which were empty at the moment. She rubbed her eyes tiredly as she regarded her husband, his handsome mug lit with a grin. She managed to give one back before a yawn hit—just the thing to match the bags under her eyes. They were well-earned, spending long days training new recruits and long nights going over "research", of sorts. As it turned out, her plans to expand their Order involved a lot more work than just getting the numbers needed. While it was easy to consider moving further throughout _Italia_ , trying to get outside of it was decidedly harder. England was their best first try, being that Catherine _knew_ English even without the Clock's influence, which, thankfully, still worked to an extent, but it seemed that extent faltered when it came to languages beyond Italian and English. She had never needed to worry before, but when she'd tried understanding a map from places such as Germany, it felt like half gibberish.

Thus, the first of the problems: language. Her Clock's breaking had limited its translation powers; that is, to Italian. Any other country's native tongue required reading up on their dialect and learning it, which wasn't easy even with a _basic_ understanding thanks to her Piece of Eden. She was, thankfully, quick to learn, but there were many countries to consider—Spain, Portugal, what she was guessing Turkey of the time, and Eastern European countries she couldn't remember the names of. Not that they were the same as they were in the future, so she supposed it didn't matter. At least, for the pointless point she was making. It _did_ matter, though, in that to even consider sending Assassins, she needed news and records of any Orders that either did or might have once existed, if they were ever there at all.

 _That_ required even _more_ research, and so her nights had steadily, but surely, grown busy. Machiavelli was a major help, providing her with all kinds of books and scripts to consider, and he even had some vague knowledge of the other countries due to his position of power, but that was as far as it went. There was no speaking to anyone higher up, either, and so she kept to her reading. That, too, required learning the language for some of the topics, and so her long nights grew even longer. She would have worked on the project during the day, but that was reserved for training their new recruits, of which were still coming—and going.

To her dismay, Mella hadn't made it. She'd proved too timid for the training and way of life, and all they could do was assure she kept quiet—which she would. She understood the cause and supported it, but she could not bring herself to fight by killing, and it was just too taxing for her body. So, she'd gone, while Alfonso remained, who was slowly proving his worth despite being a stubborn lad. Following them came two more women, much to her surprise—and delight—and then three more young men. Of them, one of the women and two men remained, though one was starting to lag. It was a bit of a disappointment considering their first six recruits had done so well without failing, and now to have three drop so soon? But she would not relent. Her techniques and methods remained the same, and those that stayed would thrive and drive the Borgia to their knees.

At least her full-blown Assassins were doing _very_ well. Between teaching the new recruits or going on missions to test their skills, they'd failed only perhaps one or two missions, and none ended in serious harm or death. They grew more confident and stronger every single day, and she was proud to be called "mentor". She was equally glad to be able to speak to them more informally; treating them as her equals as Brothers and Sisters of the Order. With their help, the Borgia had steadily, but surely, been made weaker and weaker, the wounds weeping without ebb. Soon enough, they'd run dry and then the end would come.

Cesare _would_ die.

"Please… please tell me it's a response from England. It's been, what? Two weeks? At least?" she chuckled, leaning back as she grabbed her bottle of wine and sipped it lightly. "I admit it took a bit to figure out how to contact the Order over there, but still… I would have thought they'd jump on the chance to link up and improve resources."

Ezio shrugged, pulling out the letter from his shirt, "They still have to be cautious. I don't know how well they're doing over there."

"Your Father seemed to think they were okay… decades okay," she chuckled softly as she took the parchment and quickly unsealed it to read. She smiled after a moment. "Okay, good… good… they're still in business. They're willing to start something—maybe even send some to _Italia_ if we need help, but they wouldn't mind us going over their way, either. They made suggestions, too. Looks like the Bureau in Germany would be a good second attempt. I almost forgot England and them are often involved… or they will be. Eventually. Mix of the royalty or something."

"Then I guess we should start seeing about who to send to them—one or two, do you think?" Ezio inquired, leaning against the near wall.

"Tsk… it's hard to say, considering how they've made up into teams on their own… but… I think Carlo wouldn't mind—he's more the loner. Maybe Alfonso once he's ready. He's _definitely_ the loner type. We'll have to talk to our Assassins to see what they think. In the meantime, I need to start writing to Germany, and maybe Spain. You've been there before, so at least they know us already."

"Ah, yes… I went when you were pregnant with Diana, right? I almost missed her birth," he hummed thoughtfully. "The Order isn't very big, so I think they'll be willing or at least open to the idea."

"Good. It's a good place to start. How are things on your end, by the way?" she asked, holding out her hand for him. He happily took it, leaning down to kiss her gently. "Sorry, I've been so caught up in this, I haven't had the time to really ask."

"Don't worry, it's fine. This is important, and I've been kept busy with the Borgia—they brought in new captains, and there were some Followers I dealt with this past month. I think there's one left—in the _Vaticano_. I'll try to root them out next. Our Assassins have been maintaining things in the city, thankfully."

"Oh, good, good… The kids are doing well. Mario's bigger every day, and Maria loves spending time with him. Diana's enjoying her lessons, although I don't think Claudia approves still—thinks I'm undoing all her work," the redhead snickered.

"Good, I'm glad. She's going to make a fine warrior—just like her mother. With luck, Mario will become a better warrior like his papa," he smirked, earning a playful smack.

She huffed, "Careful now. You don't want to piss off his mama. But, yes. Me, too. But, for now, we should see who wants to go to England and I can send them a letter. I wish it didn't take so long. The nice part about _my_ time was the instant messaging."

"Yes, that _would_ be convenient, but it's alright. We have a lot of time. Cesare is busy with his campaign, which is going slow— _very_ slow. Bartolomeo is keeping the French busy, which helps, and _Italia_ is resisting him."

"I wish we could get to his main co-conspirators sooner, though, but they're… surprisingly illusive," Catherine snorted, folding her arms.

Ezio shrugged, "Unfortunately. But that's not necessarily a bad thing right now—we have more time to grow and expand. It's a blessing in its own way, as much as it is a bane."

"True…," she hummed, though paused and grinned at her husband. "Look at you, being so philosophical. Niccolò is rubbing off on you."

"I enjoy hearing his council," he snickered.

"He's a good advisor, that's why," she chuckled.

"Indeed… although, _La Volpe_ still harbors doubts."

Catherine sat up, "Still? Even after all this time?"

"It's… not as _bad_ , but he never lets it go, and, well, I can't tell him not to. We still don't know who betrayed us at _Monteriggioni_ or our attack on Micheletto months ago. _I_ don't believe it's Machiavelli… but I cannot ignore _Volpe_ 's concerns, either. His word is equally important, and he, too, is a friend. I just wish I could find some proof!"

"We will… somehow," the redhead smiled, squeezing Ezio's hand by his side. "I just fear it will take time, too… but at least we can trust _Volpe_ won't move without reason."

"No, thankfully, he won't. Still," he sighed, rubbing his face with his other hand. Catherine's smile grew softer as she stood to tug his collar down and kiss him proper. A grin appeared on his mug. "Mmm… your kisses always make me feel better."

"Well, maybe you can have some more—I think I've hit a good stopping point tonight. Can't promise I won't fall asleep on you, though."

He clicked his tongue, "Oh, kitty-'Cat, _please_. When _I'm_ through with you, you'll be wide awake begging for more."

She laughed, "Oh, I look forward to it. Just let me clean up and I'll meet you upstairs."

"I'll be eagerly waiting," he purred, stealing one last kiss with a wink, and left her to tidy up the desk.

It was simple enough, though she paused on the letter from England, heart racing a bit with excitement. It was the beginning of something far grander than she or Ezio had ever imagined things could be, and she was ready for it. Even with the crippling fears—the whispering doubts that lingered from her madness—she was sure this was right and that they could do it.

All that was left was to ponder who to send—and to enjoy a blissful night after so many tiresome ones. That, she happily did, leaving the letter folded on the desk with a smile.

 **-O-**

 **September 6, 1501**

 **Roma, Italy**

Catherine regarded the two Assassins in front of her closely. Beyond them, her recruits trained hard—Carlo was teaching Diana and being very gentle and good about it—and went through their motions. Ezio was off somewhere else, gathering more info on the Followers and the Borgia, or possibly getting new recruits. He also liked to make the rounds to their allies at least once a week, so he might pop in on Bartolomeo, or just go see his mother, sister, and nephew. That left her in their fortress, which acted as their official "Bureau", as they were properly called, and while that was a normal thing, today had a surprise.

Namely, the unexpected visit by Jacopo and Alessandra.

They had been assigned to a particular area of _Roma_ to cover on a daily basis and help Ezio as deemed fit, but they had come in unexpectedly and requested her time. Briefly, she'd wondered if maybe they'd had something big to report or wanted a change of pace, but their expressions said otherwise, and for all she'd seen the two had been working very well together with no problems in the slightest. It had once been a surprise for the redhead that the two had such good chemistry together considering how Jacopo had started out, but they'd both proven to be very effective as comrades out in the field. She liked to think Alessandra had managed to get the young man to pull is head out of his ass—not unlike she had for Ezio—but she always kept that comment to herself. Looking at them now, though, she couldn't help noting how the two would glance between one another, occasionally their lips curving upwards, and how their bodies seemed _relaxed_.

It was _curious_.

"What do I owe the pleasure, Jacopo? Alessandra?" she replied finally, gesturing to them both. They looked to one another again, and the young woman nodded to her companion. He stepped forward, so she met his gaze, which was, to her surprise, rather shy—or rather, nervous.

"Well, you remember how you mentioned to all of us before that you wanted to send one or two of us to England?" he began, and her brow hiked up.

"I do," she replied, doing all she could to keep a smirk off her face.

"Well… Alessandra and I have been talking, and… we… well, we'd like to go—to England. Together."

"We've ben learning different languages since we started, and our English isn't all that bad already," the young woman spoke up next, coming forward to set her hand on his shoulder. Jacopo spared her a smile.

"You're… serious?"

Again, an exchange of looks, "Yes."

"And you're _sure?_ Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're up for it, but… Jacopo, you have family here, and one that is rather well off, actually. And you, too, have family here Alessandra, although they may not be doing as well as his. You have lives here. Roots. Are you really willing and ready to leave it all behind? Because if you choose to go to England… you may not come back. There is a chance you could, but more than likely not. I want you to consider that before you say yes.

"And more than that… you joined the Order for a specific reason—to fight the Borgia… you swore your own oaths. If you leave here… if you go to England, you're leaving that behind. You'll be fighting Templars, yes, but not the ones you know. The people are different. Their life is different in its own ways. You won't know your enemy, and the goals you made here will be left with all the rest. Leaving here to England means leaving _everything_ ," she went on, looking to them both somberly. Her expression softened some, though, as she came forward and placed her hand on both their shoulders. "I'm not saying this to discourage you. I only do it to caution you, and to make sure you're fully clear of what this means. It's not to be an easy choice—even less easy than choosing to join and stick with the Order. You're going to be sacrificing a lot to do a great good, and I don't want you to come to regret it later on."

The two were quiet, gazes falling for a moment, and then to one another. Catherine had to admit, she was surprised when Alessandra's hand moved from Jacopo's shoulder to his hand, entwining their fingers. She could see the squeeze of their digits, and a strong determination in their fierce eyes.

"We've talked about—a lot. We… we know what we're doing. We have lives here—families… we know that, but… we've found something new—with each other… and, truth be told… it would be hard to have it here. Our families are too different, and while we don't care… society will. But… but if we left—if we started anew in England… we could live together as we wanted. So, we're prepared. We're ready to leave it all," the young woman spoke, and her companion—or rather, her lover—did not waver at any point in time. They were sincere, in every way.

They reminded Catherine of herself—with Ezio. Young. In love. Fighting a war they didn't always understand. Fighting impossible odds. Facing all kinds of dangers. And yet—it was worth it. All of it. So long as it meant they could be together, it was worth it.

Catherine couldn't help her smile, "Then so be it. If that's your choice, I won't stand in the way, and I'll be more than happy to write to the English Mentor that he won't just have one, but _two_ experienced Assassins coming their way… although, should I warn them about any, ah… _complications_ in the future?"

"Huh…? _Oh!_ " Alessandra blushed, eyes dropping shyly. "I… well, we're not… _expecting_ or… anything."

"I'll make sure it's handled. All that matters is we're together," Jacopo added, chest and head high. Catherine regarded him closely, taking her hand to lift his chin up thoughtfully. She even hummed to add to the effect.

"You've changed quite a bit, Jacopo. As I recall, you didn't quite like the idea of lady warriors," she smirked playfully.

"I admit I… _didn't_ … but you and her have been rather… _convincing_."

Alessandra grinned almost wickedly, "I just teased him about being so slow until he finally gave in and started teasing back. I think he just likes knowing he can still beat me in a fight, though."

"Tsk. Don't make me change my mind about you now," Jacopo snorted, but his grip on her hand never wavered.

"Oh, please. You enjoy a lot more than my teasing now," she cooed back, and Catherine couldn't help laughing. Oh, yes, they were like her and her husband, too.

"Just remember to let us know when the wedding is. I can't guarantee Ezio and I can get there, but we'll try," the redhead grinned, and waved at them. "Go on, then. I'll get everything written and the letter sent. It will be a while before we get a reply and longer still until you leave, so take this time to talk to your families and get yourselves ready. It's a damned long journey, including a boat ride, and you'll be on your own. No one here can help you, so you two need to watch each other's back and keep each other strong."

"Of course," Alessandra grinned, looking to her lover.

"Always," he added, meeting her gaze, and bringing her hand up to place a kiss on her knuckles.

"Good. Now, get out of here and keep working on your English," Catherine chuckled, shooing them off. The two nodded happily and left with a jubilance she wouldn't have expected had she not known their not-so-secret little secret. She watched them go until they were out of sight before returning her attention to her students. She noted Carlo was looking to her curiously—while still working with her daughter, she noted wryly—but waved off his questions. She'd explain all later.

For now, she just smiled. Things were going quite well, after all. Quite well, indeed.

 **-O-**

 **January 27, 1502**

 **Rome, Italy**

"Mario, now, now, don't fuss," Catherine chuckled as she shifted her son, just a little over a year and a half. He'd grown a thick head of air, an even bigger appetite than before, and had become a bundle of energy that turned him into a wriggler. He'd begun to walk proper, too, making him quite the rascal around the fortress, although there were always eye on him to keep him from getting into trouble. He was well-liked among most the Assassins—some never really interacted—and so even they sometimes helped out. For the most part, though, it fell to his mother, older sister—now ten years herself—father, grandmother, cousins, and aunt. All were happy to tend to the boy, who they all hoped would grow up strong like the father he resembled.

"Such a trouble maker he's becoming," Claudia hummed, sitting as prim and proper as ever at the table in the _Isola Tiberina_ 's study. She was visiting after leaving the _Rosa_ in charge of her sons and her one of her higher-up courtesans, which gave her sister-in-law the time needed to visit her brother's family.

"Like his father, you mean to say," the redhead smirked, shifting her son in her lap. "Which he is, but I'm just glad he's happy and healthy. How's Federico doing? Bartolomeo told me Giovanni is on his way to becoming a squad leader and probably will move even higher up."

"And I am proud of him as much as I worry," the woman sighed, pressing her cheek into her hand. "But he is happy and doing well. Federico is, too. All the girls adore him for what he does… although, I do not know if I like it or not."

Catherine laughed, "Well, he got his father's charm, so it's no wonder. You just best worry about the ladies trying to get him to marry any of them."

"Oh, no. No, no, no—he will marry a woman of a much higher caliber," Claudia huffed, head raised high. "I may love my girls, but my boy is going to marry a lady of higher stature, as befitting our noble house."

"Your girls might riot."

"Hardly. They like how I run the business too much. Besides, my Federico knows better. I might tolerate Giovanni getting away with running off to fight, but I will _not_ tolerate him marrying just _anybody_."

"Is that what you thought when Ezio started courting _me_?" Catherine smirked playfully.

Claudia gave her a look, "Obviously _not_. I quite liked you, and you are of high caliber, obviously. I admit, I was sore you lied about being a banker's daughter, but I approve of your family being a part of the Order as much as we are."

"Oh, well, _thank-you¸_ sister," the redhead snickered, though couldn't help a more silent laugh torn between amusement and sadness. She had never told her sister-in-law she was from the future, and she imagined she never would. Claudia wouldn't believe her, anyways, but sometimes she hated lying to them—all of them. Except Ezio, of course. She wasn't even sure she'd tell her children, either, but it was for the best.

"Oh, hush. Otherwise, you can forget the party we have planned for your birthday."

"I told you I don't need one. I've really been too swamped with work to worry about it, and what's the fun of having birthdays after you turn forty? I don't want to be told I'm getting closer and closer to fifty."

"Again: hush. You are only forty-five," she mused, and Catherine again kept quiet. Truth be told, she was probably only in her thirties after the Clock restoring her time, but it was simply better to just not say anything. Ah, the troubles of time travel.

"Fine, fine, Throw me a party. I guess I could use a break."

"I heard it has been a bit complicated lately?" Claudia mused, reaching over to pick up her glass of wine to sip. She paused, though, glancing around. "By the way, where is Diana? I have not seen her."

"She's probably doing some training with Ezio—she took an interest in free running, and, no, don't give me that look, _she_ wanted it, so hush. As for _complications_ … sort of. Spain is on board with taking on Assassins from us, but we've gotten word from India now—I know, I know. I was shocked, too," Catherine hummed as she lifted up her boy, earning a laugh from him. "I'm hoping to send Pierro and Giotto to Spain, but they need time to think. As for India… well, Alfonso finished his training for the most part, and I think he'd do well working on his own, but he's close to people here. There's about three other recruits who are almost ready to go on their own, and I have five more I'm still running through the ropes…"

"But… _India_? That is so far away… is it really feasible to send Assassins there?"

The redhead shrugged, "They contacted us, actually. Word must have gotten out about our work, I guess, but they need some more help over there, and it seems like our Order here is thriving the most. I want to say I'm flattered, but I'm not sure how I feel exactly. It's… strange, coordinating all this, and just… _leading_ it. I know Ezio is more of the front man and he's doing all sorts of good work in the city, but even us together is just… I don't know? I just never thought… Mario always gave us direction or Lorenzo gave us work, but now it's _us_ doing it.

"And then, after what happened to our home and how I behaved… I suppose it all just feels… _surreal_ ," she sighed, a tired smile on her face. Her gaze had fallen, but it lifted when Claudia's hand touched her arm. On her face was a warm, comforting smile.

"You are doing _wonderful_ , Catherine. You and Ezio are building something so amazing here. I want to see the Borgia fall just as much as you, but it has become so much more… and I am proud to be a part of it—just as you should be proud to be leading it. The Order is going to thrive under you and Ezio. _Roma_ will thrive. So do not doubt yourself. You may have stumbled into the dark, but you have stormed back into the light, and you are strong. So strong. Now, hold your head high, my sister."

Catherine regarded Claudia for a good long while, Mario squirming in her arms, and chuckled, "You know, I'm starting to see why you're good at running your business and how you raised such good kids."

"Mother calls it a gift."

"Does Ezio?"

"He calls it nagging, I think," the young woman mused, scrunching her nose a bit.

"He loves you know—and he's sorry. Even if he won't say it."

She smirked this time, "Oh, I know. But I am going to make him say it first."

"That's my favorite sister-in-law," Catherine winked, brushing hair from Mario's face. "And… I think I'm feeling more aggregable to that birthday party now. I might even put aside my work just for that."

"Good, because it is happening. But until then, might I see my nephew?"

"Of course. Just, do me one favor, Claudia?" the redhead smiled as she shifted her boy into his aunt's lap.

Claudia raised a brow, "And what is that?"

"Try not to spoil him _too_ much—wouldn't want him to end up like his father."

Her sister-in-law just laughed.

 **-O-**

 **November 15, 1502**

 **Roma, Italy**

Catherine regarded the group before them, four new Assassins to be. Alessio. Matteo. Lorenzo. Isabetta. Beyond them, the others—old, and new. She recognized Alfonso, and Belloza immediately. Of her originals, Alessandra and Jacopo were thriving in England, Carlo had gone to Spain, and Giotto and Pietro had ventured off to India to do their work. She expected a letter from all from all of them on their work soon. Today, though, was about their newest, fully fledged Assassins. She'd had them for months now, and they'd trained hard and learned quickly. They were, perhaps, her quickest learned students, having the will and the drive to see it done. As it stood, there would be eight more done with their training by the end of the year if she could help it. Twelve new Assassins to fight for _Roma_ , and other lands. Spain was asking for more, Portugal was interested, and even Germany was intrigued. They were, for lack of better word, the source of Assassins in almost all of Europe it seemed, and she was both proud and more than awed by the notion. Her and Ezio's work was paying off.

"We are Assassins," her husband spoke, his voice echoing through the dimly lit halls. His words were echoed by the recruits and, one by one, they came forward. Alessio first. Isabetta second. Then Matteo, and lastly Lorenzo. They would work their own missions and make their own choices now, but they would always find a home here. They might even return to help train the new recruits. For now, though, they would celebrate, and once Catherine might have joined them, but this time she forsook it for solace with her husband after the ceremony—and Machiavelli, who lingered.

"Well done. Four more Assassins. I admit, I did not expect your work to become what it is—not so fast, certainly," he hummed, lip tugged upwards in a smile.

"If it helps—neither did we," Catherine chuckled, leaning against Ezio as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Not that we're complaining—although it _is_ a lot of work. We're grateful you've been helping with the politics."

He waved a hand, "It is nothing. I must do my part in this grand design, and politics is not either of you two's forte."

"I definitely don't enjoy politics, although it's been… enlightening to learn new languages. I think Diana likes it more than me, though. She's definitely better at French than I am."

"She takes after her mother," Ezio chuckled cheekily. "But, truly, we're glad for your aid. Although, aren't you getting a bit busy for it?"

"What do you—Oh!" Niccolò laughed. "You mean my dear Marietta. Yes, I suppose I am busy tending to her whims, but… she understands despite not knowing the true depth of things. I told her of my busy life from the beginning, and she accepted. Although, I do fear if she were to become with child, I may find myself more occupied than expected."

"Are there any signs?" Catherine asked, perking up a little.

The nobleman shook his head, "Not yet, or none that I or the Doctor are sure of. I am hopeful, though. I admit, having Diana around along with my nephew has mad me eager for my own, as surprising as that may seem to you."

"Hardly. I saw the light Diana brought to your eyes, my friend," the Auditore grinned, clapping the man's shoulder. "My prayers are with you, then. May you be blessed with a child soon."

"Indeed. Now, I must be off. She is likely wondering why I am not yet home despite the late hour. I look forward to the next ceremony—and as soon as I receive word from any other Orders I will let you know."

"Thank-you, Niccolò. We'll speak soon," Catherine nodded, both she and her husband bowing their head slightly as the nobleman finally headed off, leaving them alone. It was only then the redhead inhaled deeply and looked up at the love of her life. He was another year older, but he still bore the remnants of his youth, although he did look more tired in his eyes. She felt it, too—the weariness of the years, but they were strong and would endure. "How are you, love? Things going well?"

"Actually, yes," he hummed, tilting his head to give her a kiss on the brow. "I haven't had the chance to let you or Leonardo know, but I was successful in tracking down the next war machine. I plan to head out within the week to destroy it."

"Oh? That's wonderful! That will make, what? The third one? Only one more should remain after this," she grinned. Her husband returned it as his hand released her hips to wrap around her fingers instead.

"It is. Although, I won't know what to do with myself after. We finally cleared out the last of the Follower Dens, although members do linger, but at least the heads of the snake are gone… The Borgia remain in the city, but they're severely weaker than before… The French pose an issue, but they keep themselves barricaded in the countryside and Bartolomeo keeps them at bay… and both Micheletto and the Cardinal man have yet to appear in a position to take them out."

"So. More sitting and waiting. I hate it, too," Catherine sighed, head tilting dramatically. "I guess all we can do is keep expanding and seeing about doing more local missions outside _Roma_ but not so much out of _Italia_. I'm even considering one just to get out and about. Lord knows I've been cooped up in here too long."

"I think it'd be a good idea. You and me—on a mission again," Ezio grinned, squeezing her hand.

"You sure? I mean… I'd _like_ to, but… No. No, you're right. I've gotten better. I need to be more confident about it—even Claudia tells me so," the redhead laughed, shaking her head. "I guess… it's just… It was almost a year ago now, wasn't it? No, longer still… and yet I still worry. I can't forget the moments—not even a little. I'm not sure I should forget."

"Is that why you've stirred in your sleep so much?" he asked, and a small smile appeared when she looked to him sharply. "Yes, I've noticed. You know I do, and you don't need to be so upset by it. It's not a bad thing you remember—but we need to start getting you to let it go. When you're ready, of course."

Another sigh left her lips, "You're right. Again. Really, _I'm_ probably the one doing the most worrying about it. Yeah… alright. But start small. Easy, simple missions—when I have time. I do still need to train everyone and do the missions. Oh, and care for the kids, make sure Leonardo is doing alright and get supplies from him. Oh, and talk to Niccolò and _La Volpe_ and Bartolomeo and Claudia and—."

"—if you're trying to tell me I haven't done much around here, I'll _have you know_ ," Ezio snickered, tugging his wife so she was facing him and his hands rest on her hips, "—that I do _plenty_ and you are being dramatic. I tend to the little ones as well, train the rookies, and speak with everyone, too. And, most importantly of all—I take care of _you_."

Catherine grinned impishly, "Oh, I know, but I have to tease you."

"And I'd have it no other way. Now, come on. Diana and Mario are waiting for us upstairs. They insisted we let them stay in the bed tonight," he chuckled, urging her onwards again.

"Fine by me. I'm happy for as much time with them as possible. I'm just surprised you're so willing."

He paused, "Wait—what's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, don't feign innocence."

"Come now, dear, I'm not _that_ bad," he huffed, releasing her to fold his arms over his chest.

"Uh-huh," she smirked right on back, waltzing on by.

" _Catherine_ ," he pouted, putting on a good show of it. She couldn't help laughing as she raised a brow at him.

"Oh, hush. You know I love you. Now, come on, love, the children are waiting."

Ezio just chuckled, coming up to take her hand, "Yes, dear."

 **-O-**

 **July 25, 1503**

 **Roma, Italy**

"Catherine."

The redheaded Auditore looked up from her work at her mission table, one of her newest Assassins beside her, discussing a possibly venture coming up, and found Niccolò Machiavelli by the entryway. It was quite the surprise, the man busy with his newborn son these days, a wife pregnant yet again with their second child, and also the matters of politics when it came to the noblemen of _Roma_ —and the Borgia. She was glad, as always, to see him, though, and welcomed him warmly with an embrace. Her Assassin—Francesco was his name, proven quite the adept fighter and swift on his feet—bowed with all respect deserved and remained silent as his Maestro and higher up spoke.

"What do we owe the honor?" the redhead inquired and raised a brow when a letter was produced. It was not like the many others from other countries or her Assassins reporting from said countries. Rather, it was but plain parchment and when she opened it up she found scribbles and re-working of words on it. She knew the script to be Machiavelli's hand, but the one he'd written over was new to her. The message he laid out was clear, though, and her heart skipped a beat as memory came to her.

"Giovanni," she breathed, the young boy's vibrant, smiling face flashing across her thoughts. The one truly innocent person in the entirety of the Borgia family. He had been as much of a prisoner as she and her son had been, but he had elected to stay behind all those years ago. The maid had sworn to see to his safety, though—and also to get word out when the boy wanted to escape.

It seemed the time had come.

"Yes. He wishes to leave his home—to be free of his father and grandfather. My contact is able and willing to help… but I fear it will not be easy. I imagine they will need our aid."

"Then we'll give it. I swore I would… Ah, Francesco," she spoke, turning to the young man. He was maybe in his late twenties, a youthfulness in his features still, but also a hardiness. He had a good heart as well, and she knew he would be willing. Sure enough, he stood to attention.

"What would you ask of me, Maestro?"

"Giovanni Borgia—the son of Cesare Borgia. He was there when I was prisoner and was the one of the few people to show kindness. He chose to remain when we rescued Caterina Sforza and my son, but now he seeks to be free of them—to join us. He is sincere, and it would be cruel to leave a child in their hands. It won't be easy, though. A maid is there to help, but they need protection."

"I understand and am honored to help. Only give me the time and place and I will see to it," the young man nodded, bringing a closed fist to his breast.

"My contact can get him out to the streets of the _Vaticano_ , but no further—Cesare would never allow him beyond the bridge without a guard. You will need to slip away with him there. My contact has her own way, and so you need not worry for her."

"Understood."

"Will you let your contact know what to do?" Catherine looked to Niccolò.

He nodded, "Yes. There is an unique fountain she can bring him to. Francesco, will that suffice?"

"It is more than enough. Once I know the time, leave the rest to me. I will bring him here safely."

"Good. You have my gratitude," the redhead smiled, clasping his shoulder warmly. Again, he bowed his head. She knew little of his background, but wherever he'd come from, he'd grown up with manners. "Go on and rest up and prepare then. It might take, what? A day? A week?"

"If Cesare is back, it may take time, but if he is still away, which, as far as I am aware, he is, then it may not be long at all. I will keep you informed, but best to be ready for any moment."

"You heard him. Keep ready, Francesco, and best of luck to you. I look forward to hearing the good news," the redhead grinned, and her Assassin smirked back with a nod. He trotted off not long after, passing by other recruits, whom roamed about the fortress as they pleased with this day being a day to rest. Catherine breathed in softly as she stretched herself and looked to her comrade. "So… he finally wants out… I almost can't believe it. I think I'm more relieved than anything else, but… ah, I'll worry about it more when the time comes. Thank-you for coming to me, though, Niccolò. I know you're so busy and—."

"Fear not; I will always have time for the Order. My wife and child sleep more than anything else right now, so I am allotted more time than before," he replied, though a sad look came over him. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could do so, a quarry of voices rose above others. Familiar ones, too—Ezio and Claudia, if only by the fact it was a quarrel; nothing too serious, but their faces showed they had been annoying one another as they came into the fortress' main area.

"Ugh, I have had enough of you. Besides, we are here, so if you have a complaint you can give it to your wife," the younger Auditore snapped, lifting her nose up. Ezio sighed with exasperation, rolling his eyes, but had enough sense to give his wife a grin as they approached. He went for a kiss, but the redhead made a point to give him a look and waggle her finger, preventing him from claiming such a pleasure. He pouted—Claudia took enjoyment in his frustration—but relented.

"I'm not even going to bother to ask what it's about. Rather, what do I owe the visit?"

"Well, I have news about who is funding Cesare's army," the younger Auditore mused. "Truth be told, it was _La Volpe_ who learned the name, but regardless, the man you're looking for is The Banker."

"A man? Isn't the money coming from the Pope? The Papacy?"

" _La Volpe_ mentioned a man called Agostino Chigi is the Pope's money-lender, but apparently Cesare does his business with someone else. We do not have a name, just that they are called The Banker," Ezio added, then looked to his sister.

She smiled, just a little, "Luckily, I just so happen to know someone who owes money to this 'Banker'. Senator Egidio Troche. He comes in all the time to complain to my girls—among other things."

"Sounds like that's a lead we need to follow up on. Do you know where he lives?"

"Unfortunately, no," the younger woman huffed.

Niccolò frowned, "Neither do I, I fear. I am not close to the man, nor speak much with him…"

"Hmm… Claudia, does he come on specific days? Times?" Ezio inquired, and his sister nodded.

"Yes, he generally comes at the end of the week. If you come by you might be able to follow him to his home."

"It is all well and good to find the Banker, but do you have a way to steal away the funds from Cesare?" Machiavelli piped up.

The younger Auditore gestured, "My girls can sneak it out. They will be the least to be suspected, anyways."

"Claudia…" Ezio began, voice low and full of warning, but his sister was having none of it as she glared daggers at him.

"My girls are just as capable as your Assassins. _You_ should worry about finding the Senator and the Banker. My girls will do their part," she snapped quickly, but Catherine noted there wasn't the usual fire to it.

"And that's what we'll do. Ezio or I or both of us can scout the _Campidoglio—_ it's where all the senators like to gather. We'll watch for himin the coming days until we find him, follow him to his house, and go from there. We'll be sure to let your girls know when it's time. Until then, everyone just be ready, alright?" the redhead spoke firmly, giving her husband and sister-in-law a look.

"Well, if that is settled," Niccolò chuckled, not at all missing the tension in the room as he nodded his head. "I look forward to the good news. Best of luck to you, my friends."

"Indeed. Come see me when it is time," her sister-in-law half-sighed, though spared a smile for the redhead as she, too, turned to go. "Forgive me for the short visit. I simply could not let Ezio get away with his foolishness so I followed him all the way here, but I must return to my girls. Do knock some sense into him, will you?"

Catherine made no promises, only snickered as the younger woman left, and then regarded her husband with a cheeky grin. He, in turn, pouted, but only for a little bit, and then grinned like an imp as he folded his arms over his chest.

"So… You _and_ me? On a mission? Is it finally time?"

The redhead paused, taking in his words, and laughed, "I… Well, I suppose it is. I said I should, and I've put it off… but… yes. I think it's time I finally returned to the mission side of things… God, I hope I'm not too rusty."

"Never… buuut… we probably should ask Leonardo to quickly make you a pair of Blades," he hummed, and she laughed again.

"Yes, I suppose I should. Well then, shall we?" she cooed, holding out her arm. He gladly came to her side and let her loop their arms.

"We shall… oh, wait… should we take Diana to see him? She might be upset if we don't…"

Catherine paused, thinking, and sighed, "Yeah, we should. Lord knows she'll pout for a week again."

"I'll wait for you."

"Yeah, yeah, quit grinning you oaf," the redhead chuckled, shaking her head. It thankfully wasn't hard to find her daughter reading her brother a book—not that he fully understood, but she liked to do it—but was all too happy to drop it in favor of seeing her favorite art teacher. Mario came, too, of course, and in the end it was, perhaps, one of the better times she'd had in a while. She savored it, too, knowing what was to come.

The Banker's demise was looming, and once he fell, so, too, would the rest, and things would change for them all once more. That, Catherine was sure of.

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 **25** – _End_

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 **TMWolf:** _And there we are! Like I said, pretty much filter, but fitting in canon elements. Took a bit of researching to figure out what countries' Assassin groups were active at the time and working in Giovanni Borgia, but I managed. Some stuff is ret conned over many games and other media, so I did pick and choose a little. Anyways, hope y'all enjoyed! Next chapter has way more fun and action! :)_


	26. I Shall Rise

**TMWolf:** _Oops forgot to post sooner! It just slipped my mind, haha. Well, back at it, here's the update and it's a good one! :) Catherine gets to have a dang good moment!_

 _So. Thank you for the reviews! Always love getting your comments and questions and such! X)_

 _This chapter is Karen O's - I Shall Rise, which I thought was a good fit for this chapter ;)_

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 **26** – _I Shall Rise_

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 **August 1, 1503**

 **Roma, Italy**

The late afternoon air was surprisingly cool, Catherine couldn't help noticing from her spot by a series of columns holding up the covered walkway of the building. It stood to the right of the main courtyard of the _Campidoglio_ and was as regal as the rest of it. Buildings lined opposite to her cover and adjacent, while stairs to her left led back down to the main roads of _Roma_. In the center was a fountain of innate design, and a magnificently sculpted statue of a man prostrating himself in an artistic way. He matched the rearing stallions by the stairway and was far more appealing than the general masses of noble men and women that either sauntered about or stood chatting idly amongst themselves. It was just a normal day for them after all, and they were happy to enjoy the small break in the summer's lingering heat.

The redheaded woman glanced to her husband, whose eyes had a familiar glimmer as he scanned the crowds. He was using his Vision from under his hood, and she envied him for it. She did not possess the gift, nor would she ever no matter how much she would wish for it, which was a shame. It was such a useful tool to have. At least, so long as the target was within sight. By his slight scowl and deep release of air through his nose, she knew their target hadn't arrived. It didn't help they didn't particularly know what this "Egidio Troche" looked like beyond a general description: portly, older, dark hair with gray coming in, and somewhat of a beard. Like all nobles, he wore fine clothing and complained—loudly and often.

"I admit, I'm a little surprised no one looks at us strangely in our gear," she chuckled, leaning a bit closer. She had her arm wrapped around his, giving them the look of a couple. Of course, they _were_ , but when trying to remain conspicuous, it helped to look like it, too.

"It looks high class enough they won't think much. Hell, Cesare parades in his armor," Ezio chuckled, planting a quick kiss.

"His sister doesn't—prefers to parade her tits," she snickered, and he, too, laughed, though made a point to pinch her side.

"Now, now. Don't be mean. Besides, I wouldn't have minded seeing you in a dress. I think the last time was when you had Diana."

"Only because none of my tunics would fit," she huffed. "And, really, it's too troublesome to wear a dress with all our work."

He chuckled, "Oh, I know, I know. I just like to tease. That, and the only other time I saw you in one was our wedding, so, really, every time has left quite the impact."

"Oh, is _that_ it, hmm?" she laughed lightly, giving him a look. He grinned impishly back, and she shook her head, "Alright, alright. I'll… think of _some_ event to wear a dress for you at. _If_ I can find one that won't suffocate me. I don't know how Claudia can stand hers. I want to breathe, thank-you."

"And thank God men don't have to worry about it," he smirked, and earned a pinch himself. She opened her mouth to speak but paused when he lifted the hand of the arm entwined with hers. He angled his head slightly to the left, and since he didn't look, she listened.

"Egidio's been asking for money again."

"What is it for this time?"

"Some proposal to diminish the frequency of public executions. He is also petitioning for an end to witness torture in the criminal courts."

"Like _that_ is going to happen. He just wants the money to pay off his debts."

"Per usual. Ah, look, there he is. And seems trouble finally caught up to him."

Catherine and Ezio both looked down the opposite way where the two noblemen to their left had spoken. It took a moment or two, but then she spotted a more regal-looking man. He was older, overweight, and looked exactly like a noble. Around him was red, though, in the form of Borgia guards. Of course. There were three, although there could be more around the corner, and they all had their focus on Egidio.

"Well, looks like we found our senator," she hummed.

He sighed, "And trouble found him. Come on, let's make sure our asset stays alive."

"Oh, boy. They're manhandling him," Catherine scowled, breaking into a fast jog. Ezio was right beside her, and by the time the guards had began to assault the older man with blows to the gut, they were on them. Surprise worked well in their favor, and they both each had one guard down almost instantly. Her husband took out the next with a graceful charge, shoving his hidden blade into the man's chest and striking the heart. He tumbled back while she approached the Senator, who had stumbled back into he door behind him after being struck earlier.

"Senator Egidio Troche," Ezio spoke, a statement and not a question.

The man's shoulder slumped, "I do not owe you two money as well, do I?"

"No—actually, we're looking for the man you do owe money to: Cesare's banker," Catherine replied, earning a raised brow, then a scoff as he raised his arms in a mixture of disbelief and contempt.

"Ha. Cesare Borgia? And you are?"

"A friend of the family," her husband responded before she could, which was more civil than what she had to say.

"Cesare has a lot of friends these days. Unfortunately, I am not one of them.

"We can pay."

He lifted up his arms, "Well, is that not something? They fight guards and they give away money. Where are you been all my life?"

"Jokes aside, Senator," Catherine spoke up, motioning with her head towards a group of guards off in the distance. Thankfully, they hadn't seen them, "we should probably get you somewhere safe."

"I have a place… but you are going to have to protect me. The guards are not being very friendly, if you know what I mean," he half-chuckled, half-grimaced. "I can lead the way, but, please, stay close."

"Of course. We're right behind you," the redhead nodded, taking up point with the man, whom ventured towards the courtyard. He paused, though, noting a squad of guards in a corner, and made a point to go the farthest way around the fountain to take the stairs on the opposite side of the courtyard back down to the streets below.

"Someone really wants you dead," Ezio mused, noting the paleness of the Senator's face. The older man glanced back as they moved down an alleyway, towards back roads. A sigh escaped him, ripe with frustration.

"A few months ago my brother, Francesco, the Pope's Chamberlain—I know, I know, do not get me started—He told me of Cesare's plans for _Romagna_. I wrote to the ambassador of _Venezia_ , warning him. One of my letters must have been intercepted."

"Then you are an enemy of his, too?" Catherine mused, and while the man didn't say yes, he didn't shake his head, either. "I understand. If it eases your mind, we both are his enemies."

" _That_ I could already tell," Egidio chuckled. He paused as guards appeared, so they waited for a moment until they moved out of sight. The older man shook his head as he went onwards once more. "The Senate has nothing to do these days; the Borgia have taken all the power. You know what it is like to not have a fuck to do? It changes a man. I admit I have been gambling, drinking—"

"—and whoring," Ezio added, wry smirk hidden under his cowl.

"Oh, you are good, Sir. Was it the perfume on my sleeve?"

"Something like that," he replied, and this time Catherine smirked, barely withholding a snicker. They came to a stop in an alleyway, where the Senator briefly leaned against a wall to pant lightly. He'd been going at a slight jog after the first group of guards they found, and unlike the two Assassins, he was not made for moving so much. However, it was not safe, and when they made note of it—or, rather, the guards further down the alley—he sighed and pushed onwards.

"Senators used to petition about real issues like unlawful cruelty, abandoned children, you know. Now we write up legislation on the appropriate width of women's sleeves," he scoffed.

"Oh, no, mustn't show off any forearm, lest we cause you poor, feeble men to lose all control of your cocks, right?" Catherine snorted, and she was only a little more than amused when he gave her a bit of a huff. "I jest, although, I can guarantee my attire will most likely never prove appropriate. But, I suppose that's not a concern—after all, you're not like them are you?"

"Oh, no, no, he raises money for false causes to pay back his gambling debts," Ezio added with a hum, and the Senator stopped in his gate to turn around to face them.

He scowled, obviously offended by their accusations, "False causes! I am interested in pursuing them as soon as I am financially able to do so. You ever look at a grave and think: 'This is the most significant thing I will ever do'?"

"Yes—more than you know," Catherine replied, her smile sadder than she wanted, and she could see Egidio's face visibly falter. An understanding replaced his annoyance.

"Forgive me, you did risk your life earlier and still do so now. I suppose I am simply unused to such… situations."

"Don't worry about, Senator… Ah, Catherine, look," Ezio rumbled, motioning towards a set of guards that patrolled on high. They were out of sight now but they might be spotted.

She followed his eyes, then spotted a sight for sore eyes, "No worries. I see some of ours. Senator, stay close to my husband."

"Of course—wait… _husband_? She is your _wife_?" he guffawed as she trotted towards the gaggle of young woman. She didn't miss Ezio's chuckle and rather proud "yes", bringing a smile to her face as she pulled a small coin pouch from her belt. The nearest courtesan saw and was smooth in their transition to her side. A quick slight of the hand, and the coin was exchanged.

"See the guards? Make sure they don't see us, and tell Claudia the coin comes with love," she chuckled, and the young woman laughed before nodding and heading up the stairs. Giggles, coos, and proclamations of ardor soon echoed over the crowd, and the redhead motion for Ezio to come forward. With the plan in motion, they were left unmolested.

"We are not far," Egidio spoke up as they rounded another corner, then another. A few more guards barred their way, but another courtesan group was not far. Again, they proved useful, and the Senator jogged the rest of the way to an intricate iron-bar gate, barring the way into a small courtyard of an ornate home. There the Senator finally relaxed, panting lightly, and let his shoulders and head hang low. "Fucking letters. I should never have sent them to the ambassador. Now Cesare will murder me. Bah. Well, welcome to the home of my brother, Francesco. Thank God he is not here; we have not talked since he found out about the letters. Er—what did you want again?"

"Cesare's banker," Ezio stressed, and the man nodded.

"Right. I need to arrive with the money. Problem is, there is no money."

"Wait—you're meeting the Banker? Where? When?" the redhead pressed, stepping forward.

"I never know until I am there. I go to one of three places. Then his friends take me to him."

"Tsk. Of course that's how they do it," she groaned, rolling her eyes. "Well, we can't do anything without the money. You didn't lose the pouch this time did you?"

Her husband pouted, "That was _one_ time in _Venezia_ , and it was Rosa. Of course I have it."

"You still got your money stolen."

"Wait—what?" Egidio exclaimed just before Ezio pulled a coin purse off his belt and tossed it to him. His eyes went wide as he felt the massive amount of coin within, the red sack heavy in his grasp. "I cannot believe you would just do this! I had not dared to hope, and yet, here it is—in my hands!"

"There is a condition," Ezio replied, and the man gave him a look.

"I _knew_ it."

"Just keep an eye on the politics of the city. I want you to report back to Maria at the _Rosa in Fore_ about targets who are helping the Borgia."

"And what?" he scoffed, waving his hands. "You will make them disappear? Bah, I will be right back. I need to gather a chest to put the money in—for show, if you will. Just wait here."

Catherine waited until he was inside before letting out a deep breath of air, "Holy shit, we're actually getting good on a lead… I'm not sure if I'm excited or worried… or just more shocked the Senator didn't find it totally mind boggling I'm a woman doing this."

"Ha! I think he was more shocked we were married. I imagine he simply feels more indebted than perplexed; he's not a complete fool, just perhaps with his coin. Shame not all are so civil. But I am glad we have this lead. And, with luck, he will keep his word and report to Mother. We could use more leads where Machiavelli cannot provide them."

"That's for sure… although, I worry it might bring trouble. I guess good thing Federico is there," she hummed, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "Hnn… I might have to stay back some on this one—you can get a lot closer than I can as a man… God, that's so annoying. Probably the worst bit about being in the past. A woman dressed in pants gets noticed."

He laughed lightly, "Not that it ever stopped you. They always underestimate you still, too. So, I'd say it works in your favor. But—ah. Here he is. You are ready, Senator?"

"Yes, yes. My piece of shit brother may hate me, but he is still family. Bah. Okay, we go."

"We'll take to the roofs, just to be safe. Don't worry, though—we'll be watching over you," Ezio replied, and while the older man didn't like it, he also didn't argue. The two Assassins said no more as they scrambled to the rooftops—the Senator made an audible curse of surprise—and then waited and watched as their new comrade ventured through the streets.

The meeting place, thankfully, wasn't far, and they ended up on the roof of a decent-sized abode with a courtyard below. The roof was designed in a square shape with an opening done in the same way, making it easy to gaze down at Egidio, whom was accompanied by Borgia Captains. The conversation was civil enough despite beginning with a threat, and the trio of men were on their way. Catherine exchanged a look with Ezio, waiting a few seconds before tailing the men across the roofs. It was a much longer, and somewhat arduous journey to remain out of sight—lengthy jumps and jogs, coupled with archers that were eliminated—but it finally came to an end in, perhaps, the largest open area of all of _Roma_. At its heart was the Pantheon, and, as it so happened, it was to the massive building that the two Captains led Egidio.

Catherine groaned, "Of _course_ it's in the Pantheon… dammit, we're going to have to climb up that, aren't we?"

"I've done it before—it's not that bad. There's an opening at the top I can slip through… ah, you can watch the guards at the front, though. Look, they have our new friend," Ezio replied, gesturing as he made towards the buildings along the side of the Pantheon.

"Damn, you're right… Okay, so, I'll make sure our new ally doesn't die, and you go take out the guy who just took the money. Looks like he's alone, and he's probably our best bet to get to the Banker. Only problem is getting back out."

"Don't worry, I have a plan."

She quirked a brow, "Let me guess: you're going to take his place?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," he smirkedback.

"It's _Venezia_ all over again."

He chuckled, "Yes, indeed… but that means you'll need to tail me—watch my back."

"Naturally. I don't like having you go on your own like this, but… it's our only option, isn't it?"

"Come now, it's _me_. I can handle it. But I love that you worry," he purred, pausing to steal a quick kiss. "Just be ready for anything—and for the Banker. I expect I will be taken straight to him and I don't know what to expect…. But, Catherine… if you… should you feel… _off_ …"

"I'll be fine—I won't leave you on your own… or at the very least I'll make sure you have back up, but… I feel… fine, truthfully," she smiled, touching his arm gently.

"Alright. I trust you. Now, let's go. We need to make sure to get him before they move on, and I still have to take off some of my armor."

No more was said as they vaulted from the rooftops to the Pantheon's wall, catching grips and clambering to the top. As Ezio said, a hole was there, with a clear view below to the beautiful ornaments within the structure. The lone guard was there with the money, too, and her husband moved quickly, discarding what outward gear he could to give to Catherine, and then slipped inside, using his honed skills to quickly, but carefully, work his way downward. Despite his claims, Catherine fretted some as she watched him go, and fretted still as she ventured closer to the entryway, and moving down the wall enough to remain hidden, but see where the Senator was. Thus far, he seemed alright, and no weapons were drawn, despite his fearful state.

So far so good.

She knew her husband hadn't failed when no commotion came up, and had to chuckle a little at the sight of him in Captain's gear. It suited him, to some extent, and helped him stand out. That, in turn, made it easier for her to keep an eye on things as Egidio was spared by Ezio's quick thinking and he headed off with his contingent of guards. He was, to her amusement, put in the lead, and she hoped he would figure it out. If not, then she was ready to take out the nearest guard as she followed by roof. It wouldn't be ideal, but they'd figure out where to go, or, if she was lucky, the other guards would have him escape to the Banker or something, thinking she was attacking them all—Ezio included. Whatever the case, she was prepared, and, as she came to notice, her mind was at ease.

It was a subtle note, but any time it flickered into the forefront of her mind, she was confident she was herself. There were no whispers; no bloodlust. She was Catherine Auditore, the girl from the future and now a part of the past. Wife to an adoring husband, and mother to two, wonderful children.

She was herself.

The confidence fueled her as she scoured across the rooftops, leaping from one to the other, always keeping her husband in sight. For technically being lost, he did a good job of listening to his "allies" and taking the correct route with only minor mistakes. She was proud to call him her husband, and only hoped things would go smoothly—or at least more smoothly than the next step of her trek.

It had taken the rest of the evening by the time they came to their destination, marked by the large contingent of heavily armored guards across a bridge that led to a section of the city far from the center, but not part of the poor district either. Ezio had no problems crossing the final obstacle with his disguise, but Catherine had to work her way further down from the bridge to cross the river in long leaps and clambering hands to grab ledges, so she didn't fall into the water. She was able to glance at her incoming trouble and groaned silently. There were a _lot_ of guards—enough to where she wasn't sure she could get by unnoticed, especially not dressed as she was. Sure, the Borgia tended to underestimate her being a woman, but she was trying to be _invisible_. They were on high alert, which meant she would stand out like a sore thumb. Her only respite was that she could see plenty of courtesans—most of which, if not all, should be Claudia's girls.

"Hey!" she called in a hushed whisper, and when the young, dark-haired girl saw her, she and her group quickly came over. "I need to sneak in, but… this won't work. I need you to find Ezio, too—he's in Captain's gear, but has bracers like mine, see? His pants and sleeves will look slightly different as well, and he has a scar on the right side of his mouth."

"We can do that. Agnella, Bandecca, look for Sir Ezio. Chola, go get one of our spare dresses, I'll keep you hidden, my friend," the "leader" of the group smiled, and the girls obeyed. She was given a dress first—one befitting a courtesan. She immediately groaned, but knew it was her best option. It was going to make her job harder, but at least the guards wouldn't think much of her. That _was_ the idea, and they needed to keep a low profile. She was tempted to just say "fuck it" and stick to the outskirts, but ultimately reminded herself what this was for, and that one night in a dress that didn't cover enough for her taste wasn't that terrible.

It, thankfully, fit snuggly, and since her chest was flatter than most girls, her breasts didn't threaten to topple over. The skirt was higher than she liked, but the dress _was_ flattering in all the right ways. She let her hair fall free to boot and was pleasantly surprised to find it flowed longer than she thought—down to her shoulder blades now. It didn't seem so long ago that it barely went past her chin.

"Ah… here—to cover your back," the head courtesan spoke, holding out what reminded her of a shawl and cape mixed together, and Catherine had to think for a moment before it hit her. Her scars. Her back was covered in them, and they hadn't faded. She couldn't help the sigh, although her husband didn't mind, which was all that mattered—but what good was a damaged product to the other men? So, she took the cloth, secured it to her dress, and then found a fan held out to her. "For your face now. Sorry, it's just—."

"It's fine, I understand. And I appreciate it for tonight. Just… hold onto my gear alright? I'll be back for it once we make the strike," she explained and was pleased when the woman smiled and nodded. She meant to say more, but was interrupted as the other courtesans returned with none other than her husband trailing behind. "Oh-ho, my knight in shining armor."

She laughed when he paused, and he laughed, too, "Sorry, I'm just surprised to see you like that. You look _lovely_ , dear, and I'll properly admire you later. First—."

"Your gear. I've still got it. Here, let's hurry. The guards thankfully won't be looking for you in your usual robes or me in a dress," she chuckled, and, thankfully, it was a quick process to undress and redress him into his full gear. Once settled, he held out his arm, and she was all too happy to take it. "Such a gentleman."

"Of course. Ladies," he spoke to the others, "We need to follow the chest coming through—I went ahead of them, but they should be coming by soon."

"We're on it. Madonna Claudia told us to always give help when asked. We'll make sure only our girls come to you as well. I do not know all of the courtesans here," the head woman mentioned as she motioned for her girls to circle around them, pretending to be his escort. Catherine, of course, was his lady of choice, hanging on his arm as she fanned herself slowly, keeping her scars hidden as she kept looking up at him occasionally. They made a point to set up their group not far from their hiding place, watching carefully for their target. Thankfully, as he'd said, the guard carrying the golden trunk appeared. With but a nod, Ezio gave his signal, and the stage was set. From there, it was only a matter of keeping as close as possible all the way to the location of the party. The guard led them through the winding streets, flush with people of all kinds and plenty of Borgia guards to keep the peace. It remained unchanged until approaching a set of stairs that led up into a section of ancient _Roma_ , the _Trastevere,_ that had been renewed to favor its latest reincarnation.

"Money is changing hands… You, see if you can walk with him, keep a good eye on him and lower his guard," the Assassin spoke to the courtesan on his right as he moved to stand off to the side, where he could pretend to give Catherine—and occasionally the other girls—attention. The redhead kept a close eye as the courtesan did as told, trotting over to get into position while the Lady Auditore hid behind her fan and a chorus of fake giggles.

"Tsk. The _Vaticano_ dogs…. Normally they stay close to Cesare or the Pope…" she grimaced.

Ezio glanced at her, "Ah… they did mention Cesare was here."

" _What_?" she hissed, and her husband was quick to turn her around, so as to appear to push his "conquest" against the near wall, hands on her hips. "Sorry—I'm not… I'm fine… I'm just surprised."

"I know, but a few eyes looked," he murmured, keeping his gaze half way on the new money handler. "We're not ready to take him down yet… tonight is to take the Banker. Not Cesare. Not yet."

"I know—I won't. I promise. You're in charge this mission, anyways. You're the Master."

"Careful, now. You don't know how much I've wanted to hear you say that," he snickered, kissing her—in part for the show—and then held his arm out again so they could move once more.

She rolled her eyes, "If I wasn't married to you, I'd call you a pig…. Oh. Oh, dear Lord it's a sex party."

"I… _Oh._ Uh, yes. Yes, it is," Ezio hummed, having to work hard to hold in a laugh as they came across a sudden change in attire of the crowd. The denizens before had been fully clothed in many robes, but as they ascended into the party area, the people had discarded just about all clothing for but mere loincloths and skulls or other such strange attire. Some were even stark naked, prancing about with glass of wine in hand. She almost didn't think it could be worse, but it was proven wrong at the sight—in an alleyway so that they were _somewhat_ obscured—of couples coupling. She didn't think anyone would dare considering proprietary of the times, but it seemed this party threw such decorum out the window.

"I'm no virgin, but… good lord. What kind of banker is he?" Catherine scoffed, shaking her head.

"Not the pious kind," a courtesan hummed. "This happens quite often, so you get used to it, but just bear it for a little longer. We're almost there."

For that, Catherine was glad, though the throng of either half- or fully naked bodies only grew larger in number. It was an erotic sight, to be certain, and while in some ways it was intoxicating, at the moment she was more repulsed by it. It was just too much, and the smell of alcohol and sex and sweat was leaving an unwanted stink in the air. Thankfully, it only took one more hill before they came to a multi-archway under which a man, wearing only a scarlet loin cloth pinned by a skull of all things, and a cardinal's hat stood with his guards. He was by no means pleasant to look at, but she watched anyways, as the guard handed the chest over.

"Money for you, Banker."

"I will take that," the plump, red-faced man replied, motioning to his personal guards, and then looked to their courtesan ally, whom he pulled to him, "and _that_. You are dismissed."

"It is an honor," their comrade purred, as if it were nothing to say to the enemy. It probably wasn't even though her loyalties did lie with Claudia Auditore and the Assassins.

"Welcome to my party. I am Juan Borgia," he purred back, and Catherine's heart raced a little. So. This was the Banker. One of the Borgia by blood to boot.

A guard suddenly came up beside him, "Cesare is about to speak in the main room, Excellence."

"Come," Juan mused, taking their courtesan's hand and leading her away. The guard with the money was left alone, and no others were in sight.

"Pull the guard away and get the money, quickly," Ezio hissed, keeping Catherine close to pretend he was joining in on the fun with her. The other girls moved swiftly, but not so much they garnered attention. There was poetry in the perfection they executed their ploy; a pretty little blonde girl stole the guard's attention and easily tugged him away with batting eyelashes and tilting her chest down enough so that he saw nothing but a pair of plump breasts. He was hooked, of course, by the temptation of a good time, leaving the other girls free to approach the chest, seal the lid, and walk away as if it had never been there in the first place.

Claudia had trained them well.

Catherine was proud, to say the least, but had to set it aside for the mission. There were more guards ahead, but it was simple enough to wave more girls over to their side. They had to keep close to Juan, anyways, to be able to make their strike. Thankfully, even with Ezio fully clothed, no one seemed to mind—and if the guards did look twice, the courtesans were there to distract them. Everyone else was too busy occupied by the pleasures of flesh, and the sweet nectar of wine that came endlessly. It was a strange madness in the night, and Catherine was only so glad she was sane enough to refrain from it. While she enjoyed the carnal pleasures, this was too much. Too chaotic. Too mindless. Of course, who was she to deny the people their fun? She might not take joy in the reckless wanting of lustful creatures, but that didn't mean they couldn't. Still, she would be glad when it was all over.

Once finally through the last throng of guards, the narrower passage opened up once again into a large courtyard flooded with people. It was oddly fuller of normally clothed people, but those lacking them were also great in number. Flags were strung from all the columns and walls, courtesans danced and swooned and flirted all around, coin was thrown, wine was spilled and imbibed, and food was enjoyed in the gaiety that had pooled before the large stone structure overlooking it all. It was from the doors of the very place, a familiar site emerged, and Catherine's blood ran cooler. Not quite ice, but it made breathing difficult for a moment, and there, just barely, a whisper. The remnants of the dark poison trying to take hold.

"There he is," she rasped. "They he _is_ …. And Rodrigo, too."

"I see them… keep low— _don't_ do anything reckless," he urged, squeezing her hand, and she was forced to remember herself. Right. The mission. Cesare's death wasn't today. Nor was Rodrigo's. Juan Borgia, the Banker, would be the one to die today.

"What better way to celebrate my victories than to join in the brotherhood of man?" Cesare spoke suddenly, his voice echoing over the crowd, which had paused in their frivolity to gaze upon him. Behind him, his father did not look pleased. "Soon, we will be here once more celebrating a united _Italia_ and then the feasting will last for forty days and forty night! Begin now!"

Whatever whispers of death for the man echoed in her mind, they faded away in the same moment he vanished into the building with the Pope. The doors shut behind them, and guards barred the way. There would be no getting to him, and so she returned her focus to the target at hand. It was more difficult than she liked to regain her clarity, her thoughts lingering on the what if, but she forced them back and walked with Ezio into the throng of things. The courtesan he'd had before was gone from his side, though was not too far off. The Banker had lost interest then, and now paraded through his party, greeting denizens and grabbing women as he pleased. They didn't seem to mind. He had a guard with him, though, which would make it difficult. They needed him away from the soldier and preferably alone, but she doubted they could get him away from _his_ party.

"I'll lure him off to the side and kill him—you take care of the guard and anyone else," she spoke softly, eyes set on their target, whom was walking ahead of them.

Ezio looked to her sharply, "What? _No_."

"I can do it."

"It's not that—," he huffed, tugging her a bit closer. It took her a moment, but she understood and chuckled.

"If he touches me, he's still going to die. It's _fine_. Just watch me back, alright?"

She knew he didn't want to, but he finally growled, " _Fine_. But I don't like it. I don't want him touching you…"

"I'll kill him for it, don't worry," she chuckled and made to leave, but was pulled back into a searing kiss. She enjoyed it, of course; she always enjoyed any time he became rightfully possessive. She made sure to leave a tender kiss after before sauntering away. He, likewise, slunk off to utilize another pair of courtesans to allow him to stalk his own prey. Catherine, meanwhile, approached the Banker carefully, face hidden by her fan, but her eyes intense, and made sure there was a sway to her hips. Or she hoped so, anyways. She'd never had to seduce a man like a courtesan, being that Ezio had fallen for her simply for who she was. Alas, her worries were for nothing; Juan Borgia turned and spotted her easily enough. Eyes met, and she feigned shyness, looking away quickly and turned aside just slightly, so as if to hide from him. She vaguely recalled Gita—God, she missed the woman now, and wished she knew what became of her—saying something about her girls doing the same to draw men in; something about a weak woman being the perfect "prey" for a man. Regardless, it worked, and the Banker's hand touched the small of her back as he rounded to face her.

He smelled _disgusting._ His lecherous smile was even more so. She lowered her eye slowly.

"Now, now, why hide such a pretty thing behind that fan?" he purred, reaching up to take it, but she shied away again.

"Forgive me, Sir, but I must—my former lover… he… he was so jealous and… and so _cruel_ ," she sighed dramatically. "I am not beautiful enough to be in your presence, I assure you. There are woman far more worthy."

"Ah, but a bit of hardship can make a gem all the more unique, come, my dear," he spoke softly, almost sickeningly sweet, and brought a hand to touch her fan. He pushed downward, and she let him, exposing her scarred face, including the faded scar on her collar. She looked down, as if ashamed, but he lifted her chin. "Now, now... none of that. Yes, you are a rare gem. Hair like fire, eyes like the sky meeting the countryside. Oh, no, my dear, you are more than worthy, now, come. Surely, I can make your night better. I could use such a precious gem at my side tonight."

"You are too kind, Sir. I am honored," she smiled, as if he were the light of her life. She held back her gag instead. "But—might we sit for a time? I admit I have walked a great deal tonight."

"Of course, of course! Here, my dear, sit, sit. Tell me, are you enjoying the party?"

"I was, though now it is even better than I hoped. There is so much to see and admire and… enjoy," she replied, purring the last words as they sat, his hand on her hip while she placed another on his knee. He liked that, it seemed. Her disgust broiled, and the whispers urged her to make it slow and painful and bloody—to gut the man who dared oppress the people and lead the death of her home. It would have been so easy to give in, to let the red consume her vision, but even as her hand itched towards the hidden dagger she'd kept on her leg, she remained steady. The voices would not win. She had a mission. A goal. She had to be smart and patient. Ezio needed time, and her children needed her to not give in.

So, she stayed strong.

"Oh, good. I spared no expense. You see, the finger things in life make power so rewarding. I see an apple, I can pluck that apple. No one will stop me."

"My, but certainly you cannot just pluck from any tree," she rasped, hand touching at her chest.

He took her hand in his, palm brushing along her skin, and drew her gaze to the crowd, "You do not seem to understand, my dear. I own _all_ the trees."

The redhead looked out at the crowd quickly and spotted her husband. He was dispatching a guard silently, letting him slump onto a bench to appear drunk and simply out cold and not dead. She didn't see anymore around. Good. It was time. Allowing him to do as he pleased, tugging her ever closer, she reached up her skirt some. Her fingers found the leather hilt of her knife just as his found her ass. She could smell the alcohol on his lips as they came closer, but just before they found hers, steel met flesh. He jerked, gasping, but not crying out in pain. He looked down, eyes wide, and looked utterly perplexed to find a knife shoved to the hilt into his chest. His heart had been pierced, her aim true, and his face paled. He looked for help, for any guard, but none came, and realization came over him. He slumped, breathing haggard as he clutched at his chest.

"Ah… the things I have felt, seen, and tasted… I do not regret a moment of it," he sighed, gaze going far.

"Only because you are blinded by your greed. Men of power should not be consumed by their love of pleasantries if it at the price of the people," she replied, easing him down some.

He gestured to the patrons, "But… I gave the people what they wanted."

"No, you gave them what _you_ wanted, and now you pay for it, Juan Borgia. Rest in Peace," she spoke, reaching up to close his eyes and return her dagger to its sheath.

So far none had noticed, and so she stood, hand on his shoulder. Then she screamed, lurching back, and drawing all eyes to her.

"He's _dead_! Someone murdered him! Assassin! Someone _help_! _Help_! Run! The killer is still here!" she screamed again, and the panic set in at once. Without many guards around, it made it much easier to not get caught or found out, and so Ezio was beside her in only moments, having pressed through the crazed frenzy of people trying to avoid some would-be Assassin. He made sure to help her go as quickly as she could in her dress, keeping others from knocking into her and making sure no guards got too close. Thankfully, they were all rushing to where the Banker was, allowing them to escape relatively easily to the same place they'd started. There, she found her robes right where she left them, but didn't put them on right away. Rather, Ezio urged her to keep going to a safer spot, and they raced onwards.

Sticking to back roads to avoid the new squads of guards racing to help the others, they managed to find a back alleyway with a small courtyard out of prying eyes. There, she finally found the time to rid herself of the silly dress and put her proper attire back on. Her husband was kind enough to pull her hair back for her into a ponytail.

"There, just the way it should be," he chuckled, turning her around to tilt her chin up, admiring her. His expression sobered some, tone lowering, "Did he hurt you, or—?"

"Just hand going a little too low on the back side, and a failed attempt at a kiss. It's done, though… and… it… it felt… fine, I guess. Or, okay, that's not what you say when you kill someone, but it was more how it _should_ be."

"That… that's good!" he laughed, bringing her close to kiss her brow. "And we'll celebrate properly another time, but for now we need to head to the _Rosa_ and make sure the money got there safely."

"Right, let's hurry then, and send word for our Assassins to lay low while we're there. Cesare and the others won't be happy about the loss," she smirked slightly.

Ezio laughed again, "No, no he won't. And Catherine?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm proud of you, and love you more than anything," he replied, and her heart swelled. They raced up to the rooftops to make the venture home, and all the while her smile shone bright in the dark.

* * *

 **26** – _End_

* * *

 **TMWolf:** _And there we go! Catherine is back fully in the game, guys! :) And she did it in a dress!_

 _I don't think I originally planned to have HER kill the Banker, but that's how it ended up haha. The dress was a fun gimmick, too, but I figured it was the best course of action considering the setting. But, really, it worked for 'Cat, too, and now we have the aftermath... which we all know was a great scene xD_

So hold tight-we got more stuff to come.

And only six more chapters to go! :0


	27. Ezio's Family

**TMWolf:** _Okay, so this will come as a shock but this is a pretty short chapter. It wanted to connect it to the previous chapter, but felt like it was getting too long and the main theme of this part was different enough, so I split it up. Thus, this chapter is pretty short. It's important in it's own way, though, so there's that!_

 _As usual, I write canon as best I can :)_

 _Thank-you for your reviews and reads! It means a lot that you enjoy my story!_

 _So this chapter is from the Assassin's Creed II soundtrack that you all know and love (because it's basically the theme for every game, just altered some xD): Ezio's family!_

* * *

 **27** _– Family_

* * *

 **August 1, 1503**

 **Roma, Italy**

"Something's wrong," Ezio spoke.

Catherine felt the same.

It had been easy to get back to the city, skirting over rooftops and then down to alleyways where they could blend in with the nighttime crowds. It did the trick to keep the guards' attention away from them—that, and they were all being called to where the Banker had been killed—and it made it seem like they were in the clear. However, when they approached the courtyard of the _Rosa in Fiore_ , something was off. It was in the air, you could say; the usual crow was somber and whispering as they gave strange looks to the ornate building. There were less drunks. Less girls. Less the usual atmosphere.

Indeed, something was wrong.

"There!" she hissed, grabbing Ezio's sleeve and pointing to two courtesans sobbing near the main entrance. She didn't need to see his face to know her husband was panicking a little, his mind running through the same fears she was, and they hurried over. The girls' eyes widened as they approached, loosing another wave of tears, and reached for them.

"Oh-!" one began as Ezio took hold of her arms.

"Where are Claudia and Maria and Federico?"

"We came back with the money, but the guards followed us home!" the other sobbed, and that was all they needed to hear. Ezio spun on his heel and charged right for the door, Catherine a step behind him. He practically broke the wood from the hinges, Hidden Blade ready to strike down any soldier that had dared to hurt his family. His wife readied her own, but it was for naught. The two Assassins stopped short at the sight of blood staining the floor in deep, red pools, and the plethora of bodies littering the floor.

They were all Borgia soldiers. And towering over them was Claudia and her son. The mother wielded a dagger glistening with red while her son a sword, also stained, and they looked like they'd seen a battle. They were unhurt, though, and Catherine couldn't help laughing while her husband looked on in disbelief.

"What?" Claudia hummed, shrugging with a coy smile on her face. Beside her, her son chuckled, sharing a knowing look with her.

"My sister knows how to wield a knife," Ezio mused, a relieved—and proud—grin on his face now.

"And I am ready to do it again."

"Spoken like a true Auditore," Ezio chuckled, coming forward.

Federico huffed, "Hey, now. I took down some of them, too, Mother!"

"Yes, you did, and I am proud of you, but you were _late_. I told you to stop letting the girls fawn over you," she quipped back with a sharp jab and a disapproving look. "I am of the mind to put you on permanent outdoor guard duty."

"What? Ah—no need, Mother. I will mend my ways," he grumbled before moving past them towards the back rooms.

"You've improved a _lot_ more than I thought, Claudia. Isn't this your first real kill?" Catherine spoke up, coming forward with a hand held out for the knife. "Here, I'll clean it."

"Thank-you, Sister, and, no, not quite. I had to kill one back in _Monteriggioni_ before my dagger was knocked from my grasp, but I made sure to never forget your lessons—or Ottavio's."

Ezio balked, "Wait— _'lessons'_?"

The redhead grinned, "She swore me to secrecy, buuut…."

"Years ago—before I was even married—I asked Catherine to train me how to wield a dagger. I never knew if I would need it and you would not be around to help. I swore I would never be so helpless as I was when Father and our brothers were taken."

"Ah… I," her brother began, reaching for her. He paused, though, but then laid his hand on her shoulder gently. "I am sorry, Claudia—for how I've treated you. I should have trusted you more. I just… I thought I'd lost Catherine, and I couldn't bear to lose you or Mother, too."

"Do not worry, Ezio, I knew—I always did. But I certainly was not going to let _you_ boss me around," she smirked right on back, and both siblings laughed loudly.

" _Finally_ , you two came to your senses!" the voice of their mother rang. They turned as she waltzed towards them, Federico right at her side. She'd been sequestered to the back room for safety, being she did not posses the same fighting skills as the rest of her family. "It is about time!"

"I did _try_ to bring this boy to his senses, but he was just as stubborn as his sister," the redhead snickering, pinching her husband's cheek.

"I admit, I made it a bit difficult on purpose. It was fun," Claudia added with an impish smile.

"I'm just glad it's done and over with—or, well, at least you two pretending to argue. We still need to deal with our Borgia problem," Federico added, motioning to the dead soldiers around them.

Maria hummed, "The clean up will be easy enough, and the coin is secured, but it will be difficult to prevent more from coming on our own."

"Not a problem. I'll call for some of recruits to stand guard or blend in here as well. We'll keep them from causing any more trouble. Just be sure to keep a low profile for a while—we don't want to draw any extra attention," Ezio explained, earning nods all around.

"Excellent. Before that, though, I must see to the girls. They were quite upset from the attack," Maria sighed softly and pressed past the group to head outside to the sobbing courtesans.

"I'd certainly not mind the extra help. There's only so much intimidation I can do," Federico chuckled as he leaned down to heft a body up over his shoulder. "Alright. Into the river they go. Uncle, mind giving me a hand?"

"Of course," the older Auditore replied, reaching down to do the same. He didn't follow his nephew right away, pausing to look back at his wife. "Also… I think you have some things to mention about never telling me you were training my sister."

"Whatever do you mean? Oh, alright, I suppose I can oblige. If you _must_ know, it was all _her_ idea. No regrets, though, right, Claudia?" Catherine chuckled, to which the younger woman smirked. Ezio only rolled his eyes with a chuckle before following Federico through the back entryway.

"Not one. And… thank-you, Catherine. I might not have survived without the skills you taught me."

"I'm just glad you're alright, truth be told. With luck, you won't need to kill again, but we can't be too careful now that the Banker is gone."

"So. It is done. One step closer to Cesare," Claudia hummed, face taking on a somber look, which the redhead shared.

"Yes. One step closer. Then, perhaps at last, we Auditore may know peace," the younger woman spoke firmly.

"Well, for a little while. We'll have plenty of work to do still—what with drunken patrons at your door, and plenty of Assassins-to-be to train for me and Ezio," the redhead smirked, and Claudia laughed.

"Yes, I suppose you are right, Sister! We will have peace, but no rest!"

"Not that you mind. You enjoy the work."

The younger woman waited a moment before sighing, "You are right. I enjoy it too much. It helps me to focus… and I admit… I do not think of Ottavio so much when I have all this work to do."

"You miss him a lot still," Catherine smiled sadly, touching her arm.

She smiled sadly back, "Of course. I mourn him every night when my bed is empty… but I still have my children—thank God for that—and I have the girls. I have my Mother still, and I have my brother. And I have you, too, of course. I still have family, for all I miss my love. And that is enough."

"Yeah," the redhead spoke softly, looking to her husband as he returned for another body. He noticed, meeting her gaze, and sent a smile her way. She did the same, and, thinking on her sister-in-law's words once more, chuckled. "Yeah. That's enough."

 **-O-**

 **August 5, 1503**

 **Roma, Italy**

Catherine paced the hallway of the _Isola Tiberina_ , biting her lip. It was late afternoon, and, in her opinion, far too late. Her husband stood by her but kept to himself after previous attempts to assuage her worry had failed—miserably so. Thus, he let her pace, a somewhat wry smile on his face, although he understood her concerns. Their new recruit—nearly a full-on proper Assassin with his abilities—Federico had left in the morning to go to a particular courtyard fountain to meet with an inside contact within the Borgia court to secure a package. Only, the package wasn't just any parcel. It was a young boy—Giovanni Borgia, to be exact. The son of Cesare.

It had been set into motion a week ago, and now it was finally time to meet the woman and child. It was their one chance to do so, too. Cesare was away along with Micheletto and the boys' other attendants. Even Lucrezia was gone, staying in the abode of her latest husband, Alfonso I d'Esta, Duke of Ferrara. It was a wonder how the union had been allowed when her brother wanted her to himself, but that was the least of their concerns. Rather, they seized the opportunity it gave them, and Niccolò's contact was apparently going to be able to take the boy into the city without need for guards. It was the perfect moment, and with Francesco to secure Giovanni—and no doubt the maid—safely, it was the perfect mission. Hopefully.

Still, even with faith in her student's skills, Catherine worried. Anything could go wrong, and she wondered if _she_ should have gone? No, she and Ezio were too noticeable now. They both had wanted posters these days, which meant a papal guard might recognize them. It would only cause trouble, and if Cesare knew the Assassins—the Auditore—had taken his _son_? She and her husband had brought their own form of hell onto the Borgia when they took their little Mario, but Cesare had the armies of _Roma_ on his side. There was no telling the destruction he would bring on them if he found out. So, they needed the secrecy, and once Giovanni was with them, he would be safe, and Cesare would never know. She'd make sure of it, so his son, too, would no longer suffer.

"Catherine."

The redhead paused in front of Ezio, whom motioned behind her. She spun and held her breath as footsteps echoed through the stone walls. Sure enough, the familiar sight of Francesco emerged from the main entrance, his recruit attire giving him away as theirs—to those that knew, of course. His hood was down and a smile on his face. To his right was another familiar face, though not one she had seen for a long time. Still, she remembered the maid's plump, yet weathered cheeks. She swore a cloak over her usual attire, but it was definitely her. A third guest—a _small_ one—walked behind him, one hand holding onto Francesco's cloak as he gawked at his surroundings. He regained enough composure when they came within a few feet, though only stared while his guide bowed respectfully to his teachers.

"The mission was a success, Mentors. May I introduce, Giovanni Borgia, and his caretaker, Agnese."

"Giovanni," Catherine breathed, and the young boy looked to her. In the next moment, his eyes widened, and he gasped.

"It really _is_ you! Sir Francesco said so, but I was not sure!" he nearly shouted, rushing towards her to embrace her legs.

"Yes, it's me, Giovanni. I'm so happy to see you! I'm so glad you're alright!" she laughed, kneeling down to hug the boy proper. She kept her hands on his arms as he looked at him, noting how he'd changed quite a bit in a few years. He looked older—and tired, too. He had not lived well with the Borgias, she was certain. She feared what else she might find. "I admit… I'm relieved you sent the note. You were very brave to do so, you know."

"I am sad to leave Auntie… but… I am scared to be there. Micheletto is a bad man…. And I missed my brother. I wanted to see him and make sure he is okay," he explained, though suddenly looked down, almost nervously... "He… he is… okay?"

"Yes, he is doing very well. We'll go see him after you meet someone first," she chuckled and stood up to motion the boy to her husband. Ezio grinned as he came closer and crouched down so they were at eye level. The young boy met his gaze shyly, perhaps having been told stories.

The Auditore kept his voice soft, "Hello, Giovani. I am Ezio Auditore… I have heard many things about you from my wife here. She says you protected my son."

The young boy glanced up, then down, "I-I did… but… Papa and Micheletto… they… said you tried to kill them and Grandfather."

"Ah… I won't lie to you, little one. I did. Your Grandfather wronged me and many others deeply… I meant to take his life, but I spared him. I believed violence would only breed more, so I let your grandfather go. Then your father attacked my family, too—took my wife to the tower where you met her. And so, I must submit to violence once more to fight him, to protect my own family, and the people of _Roma_. People like you. I understand if you will hate me for it, though I promise you will be safe here, and welcome as one of us."

"No—no, I will not hate you," Giovanni mumbled, shaking his head, though his expression was sad. "Papa is cruel… Micheletto worse… They had done bad, bad things… But… I will be sad—for Auntie… I think she will be the saddest if you kill Papa. But he is a bad man."

"Well, you don't need to worry about him, anymore. You'll be safe here. Not even your Papa or Micheletto will be able to find you. The Assassins will protect you," the older man replied, squeezing the young boy's arm gently. The young Borgia finally met his gaze proper, waiting a moment, then nodded. He turned to face Catherine as Ezio stood.

"Is my little brother okay? I have missed him."

Catherine chuckled, ignoring her husband's odd look, "He's doing beautifully. He's even up and walking now that he's two years old. I imagine he'll be climbing all over and babbling away, too. Would you like to see him?"

"Yes!"

"Then we'll take you to him—and his older sister. Yes, Mario has a sister. But first," the redhead grinned before turning to face her Assassin in training and the maid. "Thank-you, Francesco. You've earned your Assassin rank. We're honored to have you among us. And you, my friend… I owe you so much more than thanks, but… _thank-you_. You saved both my son and Giovanni, and… well, you tried to help me as much as you could. If there is _anything_ we can do for you…"

Agnese raised a hand, "I only ask I be allowed to remain by Giovanni's side—especially in this harrowing time. He still has much to learn, and a familiar face would do him well. Besides, I am not much use to Lord Machiavelli with my ruse revealed. I can no longer be seen among the Borgia, so I would rather my services for the Assassins be a bit more direct. Of course, I offer myself to your other children as well."

"Well, we do already have a maid, but… it would be good for Giovanni to have someone like you—if you wish for it?" Ezio inquired of the young man, who nodded. "Then so be it. This place will be your home, too. We are happy to have an ally such as yourself. I'll only be a little sad to bear the bad news to Machiavelli. And as for you, Francesco… You also have my deepest gratitude, and you have earned both your rank—and a day off. Go; see to your wife and enjoy your time off until your induction."

"My thanks, Mentors. My wife sends hers as well," he chuckled with a wink, and sauntered off. Giovanni watched him go, then looked up expectantly at Catherine. He took hold of her hand, squeezing. The redhead smiled back, glanced to her husband who bore the same expression, flicked her gaze to the maid, who was steadfast as ever, and then made for the stairway. She was followed by the others, the young boy at her side, and ventured to the rooms above. Stopping at her daughter and son's shared room, she knocked twice, and entered.

Diana sat with Mario on their bed, a book in her lap. She was doing her best to teach him some words as she told him the tale, but he was still too young to speak most of them properly. He was already keen on names of those around him and a few other important words, but his pronunciation was terrible. Still, he was doing well, and Diana was adamant on teaching him—both wordplay and swordplay. Catherine, of course, had to put a halt on the swordplay, being he was _far_ too young for that, but words were fine. She was just glad he was becoming active and enjoyed the books, even if he didn't fully understand them. It also made for good bonding time, the two siblings together as much as possible when Diana wasn't training.

"Ah—Mama! Papa!" the redheaded young girl called out when she looked up, though scrunched her brow when she saw the others. "Who are they?"

"This woman here is going to be a new maid for you, Agnese. She's a friend of ours and helped me during my mission while I was away. And _this_ ," their mother explained, releasing Giovanni's hand to put it on his back, "is Giovanni. He is a new member of our Order—and a new family member."

"It is… my little brother!" he gasped, spotting the now two-year old boy, who had grown quite a bit since he had last seen the babe. Mario looked more like his father, his hair thick and dark, and nose just a little bigger than expected. He had his eyes, too, but even with his growth, Giovanni knew him. The young Borgia couldn't help but rush forward, meaning to embrace him, but found himself waylaid as Diana pushed her book aside and placed herself between them. She carried her stance as she'd been taught in training and even lifted one fist while the other held out a hand.

"Halt! No one comes near by baby brother unless I say so!" she snapped, moving a bit more towards Mario—protectively, Catherine noted. The Lady Auditore looked to her husband, whom was snickering himself.

"Your—Oh. You are… He is _my_ baby brother as well, and I swore to protect him—even when he was rescued!"

"Diana," the redheaded woman called out, though her daughter never wavered. Only eleven years old, and she was already a formidable warrior. "When the bad men—our enemy—had Mario, Giovanni swore to protect him and took him in as his brother. It may not be by blood… but he is a brother still."

"So… like the others—Brother and Sisters?" she inquired back, scrunching her nose.

Ezio chuckled, "Yes, much the same. He wished to protect Mario, too."

"Hmm… very well," the young girl mused, loosening her stance, but folded her arms over her chest. "But know _I'm_ his main protector! Mama and Papa are training me, and soon I'll be a full-fledged Assassin as well!"

" _Really_?" Giovanni gasped as he came forward.

Diana smirked, lifting her head high, "Yep! Mama says I can start using a blade soon! I'm going to train Mario, too, but he is too small still. So, until then I will keep him safe! But you can see him—because you'll protect him, too, _right_? You promise?"

"Of course! I protected him from Papa and Micheletto. I will do so now," he nodded firmly, and at last turned to the young Mario. The child tilted his heart curiously at Giovanni, though seemed to have some recognition. He was normally a bit shy to new people, but he smiled and giggled at the young boy. Giovanni took it as a sign to embrace him, laughing with delight himself. "It is good to see you, little brother! I am so glad you are well! I have missed you so much!"

"Hmm… Okay. I'll look out for you, too," Diana hummed, earning a perplexed look from the young Borgia. "You are good to my brother, and now you are my little brother, too. I will protect you as well—for that is the Auditore way and I am an Auditore! We look out for our own and the people, so I will look out for you, too!"

Giovanni only grinned, and the trio began to fuss over their younger brother. Beyond them, Catherine smiled brightly, her chest filled with warmth. She reached over and took Ezio's hand, squeezing it. He returned the gesture, his own chest swollen with both warmth and pride. He had not expected things to go so well, and yet here they were; two Auditore and Borgia, united. As a family—in the strange way it had come about. It was a ray of hope in such a dark world, and though many of the Borgia were cruel and corrupt, Ezio and Catherine saw light in the boy; a chance to prove even a good thing could come from such tainted blood.

"I see I have much to contend with," Agnese mused, breaking their stupor and earning a laugh from them. "But… I am glad to see Giovanni will fit in well. Although, I fear he will wish to fight as your daughter does—he has the will for it."

"If he wishes to do so—to learn the way of the Assassins, I won't stop him. It will be by his choice alone, though. And we will do all we can to ensure a good life, and to set him on a path better than his father's," Ezio spoke, which brought a thoughtful and calculating look his way.

"I will hold you to that, Sir Auditore. The boy has endured enough tragedy already, and I am only relieved he will not mourn his father's passing. Ah, but I digress. I will oversee the children's care to my best ability. I thank-you for having us in your care."

"Of course," Catherine replied, her smile still firmly on her face. She shifted to look back at her children and Giovanni. They'd taken the book back up and now both her daughter and the Borgia child were showing off the literature to her youngest. Delight was painted across their features, and the redhead felt a happiness she hadn't felt for quite a while.

She chuckled softly, "Welcome to the family."

* * *

 **27** _– End_

* * *

 **TMWolf:** _And that's it for that! Like I said, short, but sweet. I was so eager to include Giovanni, although he doesn't play a *major* role, but I didn't want to leave that loose end, and also because it's cannon xD Sadly, Giovanni doesn't have the best fate in the comics, but for now he'll know happiness :)_

 _And, at long last-and after like a decade-Ezio learns Claudia knows how to use a dagger xD Catherine reveals her secret training! Good thing, too. Federico was a naughty boy (he takes after his Uncle... and father) and was late to the fight. Tsk tsk. Luckily his mother is quite savvy with her knife._

 _Lesse... next is The Frenchman! :D_


	28. Strategist

**TMWolf:** _So. How about them faster updated, eh? xD I'm trying to make sure I remember in a more timely manner, haha. But man! Almost done with the story! There's about four more chapters left including the epilogue! Can you believe it? The darkest chapter in Catherine (and Ezio's) story is almost over! And still got plenty of crazy to go!_

 _As usual, I try to stick to canon as much as possible as it relates to my story, as it's definitely gone AU in spots xD_

 _Thank-you for your reviews and reads! I always love hearing your thoughts and I'm glad people are enjoying the story :)_

 _So, this chapter's song is a soundtrack one from the Netflix anime Devilman Crybaby - Strategist. If you want one F'd up, crazy, amazing, gory, mature, hard-core, awesome short series (like 10 episodes I think? Maybe a little more) about Devils and basically things going to hell... it's good. Also, the soundtrack is *amazing*. I'm in love with it. It's such good techno mixed with other music. The animation is great, too. But is is rated R for a very, very, good reason xD_

 _But yeah! So, time for the next chapter-gonna kill a Frenchman ;)_

* * *

 **28** – _Strategist_

* * *

 **August 10, 1503**

 **Roma, Italy**

Catherine held out her arms wide, smile bright, "Leonardo!"

"Catherine, my dear!" the artist exclaimed, embracing his friend tightly. She did the same, laughing with delight. He pulled away to regard her warmly, cupping the side of her face in his hand. "Ah, you look absolutely radiant today!"

"Oh, you're such a flirt," she teased. "Besides, I'm hardly picture worthy now with these scars."

"And _you_ are too humble. You are beautiful, Catherine, and if I must have Ezio come convince you I will!"

"Don't worry, he does every chance he gets. Besides, you're here to come see the kids, not butter me up. Diana's missed you and I want Mario to get to know you more, too. He's smart—and _very_ creative already. Oh, and there's someone else you need to meet, too. A new member of the family."

"'New member'? Were you with child and did not tell me?" he inquired, taking her arm in his as she made up the nearby stairwell.

The redhead laughed, "No, definitely not. It's more of an… _adoption_. Sort of. He helped me when I was a prisoner of the Borgia, and he helped look after Mario. I asked him to come with me when we rescued my son and the others, but he refused at that point, so I told him to send word if he ever wanted out. He did just not long ago, and now he's here, a part of the Brotherhood. It's been about a week now."

"Wait—is this… no, no… you could not… er… Catherine," Leonardo frowned, his puzzlement palpable. He gestured, "Is this… person a… _child_?"

She laughed again, "Yes, we he is. Hold on, you'll see."

The artist raised a brow as the redhead lead him to the children's rooms. She knew they'd all be in Diana and Mario's shared chambers—Giovanni was the one right next door—and so only knocked to let them know she was coming and pushed the door open. She left her friend there at the entrance, waltzing right on in. The young trio were sat upon the bed, showing off yet another book the younger Mario. Both Diana and Giovanni enjoyed reading to him and teaching him the words and even to write. They liked to learn how to fight together, too, although Mario was still too young for that, but Giovanni was as eager to master the moves as her daughter had. They made quite the pair in training, and if it wasn't known the older boy was a Borgia, anyone would have thought they were all siblings.

"Guess who's here?" she called out, and all three looked up. Diana gasped with delight and rushed over, practically tackling the artist.

"Leeeeooooooo! I missed you! It has been too long! You cannot stay away for months! It is not nice!" she pouted, tugging on his shirt.

The artist chuckled, patting her head, "My apologies, my dear. I do not mean to. My, ah, 'employer' keeps me busy."

"Oh! You—you are the man Papa asked to make things for him," Giovanni suddenly spoke, and Catherine saw Leonardo make a strange face, his expression torn between realization and perhaps worry.

"And you are… Giovanni. _Borgia_ ," he replied, glancing to the redhead, whom smiled. "I… Goodness, I admit I am _very_ surprised to see you here."

"As am I… I did not know you were an Assassin, too," the young man went on, coming forward to stand closer and bowed his head. "It is good to see you are well. Papa always spoke highly of you."

"Yes, I suppose he would… My goodness! Catherine, what on Earth?"

"Remember the story I told you? Well… Giovanni was who it was about. Don't worry. He's safe here, and he's training to become one of us—just like Diana. It was the least I could do."

"I will become strong and help fight against my Papa. He is not a good man, Sir da Vinci. And I wish to protect Mario. So, I will fight."

"You are very brave then, Giovanni. I wish you all the best," Leonardo smiled, touching his shoulder gently. He looked to Diana after, smiling warmly, "You grow every time I see you. You look more like your mother every day, too."

She beamed, "Good! I am going to be as strong as Mama one day! And Papa, too!"

"Speaking of… where is Ezio? I thought he would be here. I had some of the new equipment he wanted, and I hoped to hear news of the War Machines."

"Don't worry, he's on the way back. He was visiting Maria and Claudia briefly. And, yes, he has good news—the flying machine is destroyed."

"Oh, excellent! Well then… I suppose I should do what I came here for and see if Diana here would like to have another art lesson?" the older man inquired, and the young girl's eyes lit up.

"Yes! I love your lessons! Giovanni, you, too! Leonardo is the _best_! And we must teach Mario! He will love it, too!"

"Go ahead. I need to see to the recruits' missions anyways. Giovanni, do you want to stay and learn, too?" Catherine inquired, meeting the young man's gaze.

He thought for a moment before nodding, "I do. Sir da Vinci has very nice work. I would not mind learning."

"Then I will see to them for a while—I have a few hours before I must return," Leonardo nodded back. He glanced to the redhead, "The usual place?"

"Yep. We make sure to keep the study stocked with materials for practice. Anyways, you guys have fun alright? Take care of your little brother," Catherine chuckled as she set Mario onto the ground and gave him a quick kiss on the head. She gave Diana the same, and ruffled Giovanni's hair playfully. "And if they get a little out of hand, just come get me, Leo. I'll wrangle them in line."

"I appreciate it. Now, go on," the artist grinned, and Catherine left them be.

She sauntered her way back down to the main floor—her friend and children would follow soon enough—and then made for the basement. She'd left her recruits training while she greeted her long-time friend, and so was glad to see them still hard at work. As it stood, she has about ten in-training, and close to twelve working in _Roma_ at the moment. She had even more spread around Europe and even in India working in various Orders. Of her originals, only Piero and Giotto remained. The others had spread off into other parts of _Italia_ to establish more branches, and now new members here took their place. Occasionally her former recruits—now Masters themselves—sent men and women to her to train, but mostly they found willing denizens throughout the city.

Regardless, the Order was thriving, and she almost couldn't believe it. Yet, here she was, watching them spar with swords and fists, and they were doing good. _Very_ good.

It made her wonder what Mario would think—what the man who forged her into the Assassin she was say? Would he be proud? Would he commend her? Or would he condemn? The notion haunted her at times, but in these moments, she was sure he was happy with what they had done.

Her students paused when she came to her viewing spot, but she waved them on. She missed nothing; every punch and kick was noticed; every slash and dodge was observed; every slip and triumph was seen. Her students were strong and brave and worthy of taking up the Assassin mantle. The Order would thrive under them, and she was honored to be their teacher.

"Well, well… quite the smile on your face."

Catherine chuckled as she turned to find her husband suddenly near her, but not so much so she noticed him right away. He'd taken that up lately—surprising her. She enjoyed it, of course, and happily gave him a "hello" kiss as he settled in beside her. A few of the recruits paused to glance at the "Head" of the Order. Her husband was rather famous after all he'd done, even if the recruits did their part, too. Still, it was Ezio who did most of the big kills and went off to destroy Cesare's army. Her Ezio was doing a special kind of good in the world, and she was honored to support him, and—sometimes—help him directly. Ever since the Banker's death she'd felt more ready to return to proper Assassin work, but not just yet. The Banker was a good test, but it was still a test. She'd need to pass more trials before she was truly ready.

"They're doing well. We'll have more inductees soon… and Leonardo got to meet Giovanni. They're learning art as we speak."

"That's good to hear. Did you tell Leonardo about his creations?"

She nodded, "Yep. He's happy—and he has gifts for you. But wait until after he's done with the kids. They could use a break, and I think he could, too."

"I think _we_ could use a break," he snickered, arm reaching over to pat her rump playfully. She gave him a look, but laughed, too.

"Maybe later. Right now we have to be proper adults," she hummed and motioned to the recruits. "I'll probably send those on the right on missions soon… maybe even send some to England for Jacopo and Alessandra. They're doing okay, but more couldn't hurt."

"Do what you think is right—you've got this business down."

"What can I say? I managed you and Diana—and now Mario. I think I can manage some Assassin business."

"'Managed' me? Tsk. You're asking for trouble you know."

She grinned, "I know. Anyways, how's your side of things?"

"Well you know about the War Machines… Claudia and Mother are doing well, although they're keeping low after the attack. Mother is a bit… worried. Or she seems like it. Tired, too. She was about to retire to bed when I visited, anyways. I think everything is just wearing down on her, but she's keeping strong. Volpe hasn't said much. He's still… not at ease with Machiavelli, but he has no proof of his concerns. He keeps me updated on Borgia movements. And Bartolomeo… well, truth be told I have not heard from him lately. Giovanni is alright, I know—he makes sure to send pigeons to Claudia, so I imagine things are alright."

"Uh, you sure?" Catherine inquired, having caught sight of movement at the stairs. She pointed to the approaching figure of the very nephew her husband spoke of. He didn't look hurt, but his expression was grim. Ezio turned, and his shoulders slumped. Catherine touched his arm gently before looking to her recruits, "Keep at it, you lot! We'll be back in a bit and you better be going as hard as you can!"

There were a few groans of protest, but they soon became grunts of exertion as the recruits went back to it. Things all set, Catherine followed her husband and nephew towards a back room in the lower floor. There Giovanni's face grew darker, and he even let out a deep sigh that made his shoulders sag weakly.

"Uncle… Aunt… Bartolomeo needs help."

Ezio 's brows furrowed, "What do you mean? I thought things were going well?"

"Against the Borgia—yes. But… the problem is the French. They're growing increasingly difficult, and, though he will never admit it, the Commander is losing. He _will_ lose if we don't do something different, but he's so damned stubborn! I'm worried, so… I was, well, hoping you two could come and talk sense to him. I barely managed to get away—and even now I'm worried being gone so long. The French have been attacking us off and on so much that we always have to be prepared," he spilled, shoulders going lower and lower as the weight on them grew heavier and heavier. Ezio grasped one of the burdened shoulders gently, giving a similarly gentle smile. It helped—albeit only a little, but it still helped.

"Don't worry, Nephew. We'll speak with Bartolomeo and get to the bottom of things—perhaps turn the tide."

"Best let _me_ give him the stern talking. He'll take it as insult from you two," Catherine hummed, shaking her head. "I'm surprised his wife hasn't been urging him to change tactics."

"He's had her staying at a safer place outside the barracks, but she does send letters. Although, they've been less as of late. That, or he's just not taking them at all. I think he sent for her to come back to the barracks, though—to keep her better protected."

Ezio rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Well, we cannot do much here. Catherine, go ahead and end training for today… and bring some of our master Assassins. We may need them."

"We have five here at the fortress as it stands, but I'd like to bring a few of the recruits who are almost done training. They can prove if they're ready or not," the redhead nodded, then turned her gaze to the young man before them. "We'll meet you by the stables. Oh, and go say hello to Diana and Mario—she's missed you. And you can meet our _other_ Giovanni."

The young Auditore raised a brow, "Will do. Although, I hope I'm not being replaced."

"Hardly, my boy!" Ezio laughed, clapping his back. "You'll always be me favorite 'Giovanni', now go on. We'll see you soon."

His nephew chuckled back—it was hardly genuine—with a nod and trotted off, leaving the two Assassins alone. They exchanged looks before the redhead sighed and ran her hand through her hair.

"Well, looks like things are getting a bit complicated. You sure I should come along on this one? We may end up taking out our French general it sounds like."

Ezio chuckled, "Of course. But do _you_ think you should come along?"

The redhead grew quiet, mulling on the question. _Should_ she come along? She'd not faltered against the Banker, and he had been a major target. Surely, she could do it again? But what if she couldn't? What if she stepped back instead of forward?

In the end, she smiled with a half-laugh. Mario has always told her she thought too much—as had others—and even in death he was right. There was no knowing an answer unless she moved to grab it herself, and she would never get better if she cowered away. So, she looked to husband, nodding.

"Yes, I'll come. You'll need someone covering your ass anyways—since you'll have to watch Bartolomeo's."

"Indeed I will! Not the one I want to watch, though," he laughed before stealing a kiss. "Well then, let's get going. Time to visit an old friend a visit…"

 **-O-**

Things were not going well.

The cannon fire and sounds of fighting reached them long before they came to the compound that was Bartolomeo's Barracks. It didn't look as good as the last time she'd been here, which had probably been months with how busy she'd been. The walls were worn down and, in some places, cracked or broken—no doubt by cannons. The main building within looks alright, but it was still worrisome. The sight of haggard mercenaries was even more so, and seeing Bartolomeo pacing with sword drawn at the open gate only made it worse.

Catherine shared a look with her husband and then Giovanni as they dismounted outside the gate. Her Assassins she'd brought with her did the same, waiting diligently for a command. The redhead bade them stay put while she and her family came closer. If she hadn't been worried yet—which she was—she _definitely_ was when the mercenary commander spun as he heard their steps and thrust his blade at them.

"Who goes there!?" he snapped, voice edgy.

Ezio held out a hand for peace, "Hello to you, too."

"Ezio!" he exclaimed, his demeanor flipping as he sheathed his sword. His grin widened at the sight of the redhead, "Ah, and my Lady! Good to see you—and Giovanni! I was wondering where you went."

"What's with the anxiousness?" the redhead inquired, gesturing.

The burly man scowled, although more-so out of stubbornness as he answered, "I was expecting my wife."

"Sir, I went to my Uncle and Aunt to seek their help—against the French," Giovanni bowed respectfully, and although Bartolomeo's scowl deepened and he muttered a curse at the younger man, he did not disavow the action. Rather, he sighed after a moment and regarded the two Assassins dourly.

"The French whores have us under pressure."

"Giovanni said as much," Catherine noted, glancing to her nephew. This time, Bartolomeo didn't make anything of it.

Ezio stepped closer to his old friend, "Tell me about their general, this Baron de Valois?"

"Cesare persuaded King Louis to lend him an entire army to defeat me. I'm flattered."

"Too bad you're already spoken for," the redhead mused, earning chuckle.

"Not that I would accept. The Baron is an ugly piece of shit!" he barked with a bit of his usual gusto.

"Sir, I was thinking we could let them know where the Baron is—to help," Giovanni pressed, and though Bartolomeo gave him a look he only waved a hand as if to dismiss it.

"No need. It's only a matter of time before I have Valois by the throat. We have them in retreat."

A gunshot rang out, smacking into the nearby stone rampart and taking off a decent chunk. Outside, she heard a sound of surprise—one of her recruits nearly struck by the debris. Catherine looked to the commander, brow raised very, very high.

He again waved a hand, "The situation is under control—"

"Close the gates!" came a shout from the other side of the courtyard.

Bartolomeo grinned, almost sheepishly, "Okay, so maybe I could use a little help."

"'A little' he says," Catherine sighed and turned to her recruits. "Alright, you lot! Time to get to work. We have Frenchmen coming, so get in here and help! Ezio, you want to take the gates or me?"

"I'll be able to work the gear faster. You keep them off me. Giovanni, you have Bartolomeo?"

He nodded, "Of course. Let's show these French fuckers what it means to mess with Auditore!"

The French charged only moments later. There were at least three sets of troops, but they were ready. With Assassins combined with Mercenaries, it was a victorious battle. Her recruits thinned the herd as they came and provided smoke bombs to dilute their senses, leading them straight into the fray of mercenary weapons that cut them down. Ezio, meanwhile, took it upon himself to lower each gate with Catherine right at his side, striking down any Frenchman who managed to get too close. In the end, the battle only took minutes and casualties were kept to the enemy ranks. Her own had some cuts and scrapes and even bruises, but they lived. A few mercenaries suffered heavy wounds, which they might survive, and so were either kept close for another wave to fight or inside the Barracks to be tended to.

"Well, that wasn't so bad," Ezio mused, coming up beside his wife and the recruits. Bartolomeo and Giovanni had begun to make their way over when another call came from across the courtyard.

"The Baron de Valois signals from the gate!"

"Well, that can't be good," Catherine grumbled as she, and the others, raced over. Sure enough, their target sat atop his steed at the head of a French battalion. Unlike his soldiers, he was clad in bright, glimmering gold in the setting sunlight, and even from far away she could feel his arrogance—like a bad taste in her mouth.

 _"Bonjour, general d'Alviano. Are you ready to surrender_?" he spoke, and she was mildly surprised she understood it all. Her French had gotten pretty good since starting her endeavor with her Assassins, but it wasn't nearly as fluent. She imagined the Clock, even broken, provided some translation. It wasn't perfect like before, except for Italian, but she understood enough.

"Why don't you come closer and say that!?" Bartolomeo barked back.

The baron switched to Italian, rather well, too, "You must learn how to speak French. It would mask your barbaric sensibilities. "

"Perhaps you could teach me, and I would instruct you in fighting since you seem to do so little of it!"

"As amusing as this parley has been, I'd like your unconditional surrender before sunrise."

The Commander laughed, as he drew his great sword, "Hah! My lady Bianca will whisper it in your ear!"

"I believe another lady might object to that," the Baron hummed, motioning with a hand. From behind him, a soldier emerged, and in his grasp was a woman. They were too far off to distinguish intimate details, but Catherine had met Pantasilea before, and could tell it was her. The French bastard had Bartolomeo's wife.

"My husband is going to murder all of you!" she snapped, to which Catherine's respect for her couldn't help but grow.

Bartolomeo snarled, jabbing his free hand, "I'll kill you, you French fuck!"

"Calm down, for you wife's sake. You know my terms: Enter my camp unarmed at dawn," the Baron replied, almost with an exasperated sigh. His army began to move then, following their commander. He paused, though, to look back over his shoulder, "And practice your French. Soon, all of _Italie_ will be speaking it."

"I will get you, you piece of shit son of a bitch!" the Mercenary commander bellowed, though it fell on deaf ears. He watched them take his wife out of sight before tearing over towards the horses. The Auditore's spared each other quick looks before racing after. Ezio was the first to reach him, grabbing his arm to stop him from grabbing the horse's reigns.

"Bartolomeo, where do you think you're going?"

"Where do you think, dumb ass!? To that bastard's fortress and force my way through their gates to get back my wife!"

Catherine stepped around to put herself between him and the horse, "And you'll take the Baron and his _army_ on your own? You're damned good at what you do, Bartolomeo, but not _that_ good."

"You expect me to stay here then!?" he snapped, seeming ready to break through their "blockade", but when Giovanni came upon the other side, he paused—frustrated, but not moving anymore.

"What good are you to Pantasilea if you're _dead_?" the redhead snapped back, causing the man to pause. "Because we both know you'll be slaughtered if you do."

"She's right, my friend. We should gather our forces here and fight through the gates as we did at the _Arsenale_ ," Ezio pressed, but the man didn't want to agree. His teeth grit and he let out a snarl of frustration.

"Sorry, Uncle, but we'll never get through the gates by charging it. The fortress has too many Frenchmen. We'd be cut down before we even got five steps in," Giovanni frowned, arms folded across his chest. "Otherwise, we'd have done it by now, but with the Commander's wife as their prisoner it makes it even harder."

"So, we will climb the battlements."

"They cannot be scaled!" Bartolomeo scowled, pacing now. He sighed a moment later, "Argh. Pantasilea would know what to do! Ah, maybe this is the end. I enter at dawn bearing gifts and hope that coward spared her life."

" _What?!_ Commander, _no!_ You can't!" the younger Auditore rasped. "We can't just give up! Surely there's a way! Uncle, Aunt—surely!?"

Ezio's eyes lit as his head shot up, "Wait—Bartolomeo that's it!"

"Huh? What did I say?" the commander frowned, brows scrunched.

"Say you got through the gate without a problem—once inside, your men can overpower the camp's patrols, correct?"

"Yes, but—"

"—Especially if the patrols are taken completely by surprise?"

"Of course."

"Then we need to liberate several suits of French armor. At dawn, we are going to walk right in."

"Hah! Ezio Auditore you are truly a man after my own heart! Magnificent!"

Catherine laughed with them, "Well, well. Looks like I might be out of a job making the plans. Lucky for you both, we have plenty of extremely skilled Assassins to take out as many Frenchmen as you need—or do we have anyone with second thoughts over there?"

The redhead leaned over slightly to look at her recruits, numbering eight. Of them, none shied away. In fact, they dared give her lip to suggest they might be cowards. She, of course, only grinned.

"Excellent. My troops will gather it from the dead. We will then depart from the north, so as not to arouse suspicion. Giovanni, I want you with me, and to gather the best men we have—twenty if you can. This is going to be one of the hardest fights of our life. I need you to carry Bianca for me as well," Bartolomeo nodded as he unstrapped his sword belt and handed it to the younger man.

Giovanni's eyes widened, "Of course, sir. I won't let you down."

"Quite the promotion there," the redhead snickered as a blush came to her nephew's cheeks.

His commander chuckled, "He is a strong, smart lad. The Auditore blood is strong in his veins. Now, you two must hurry and get the armor, but be sure it is without a fight. The armor has to stay _clean_."

"Not a problem—right, my recruits?" she called out, and all she received was strong confirmation. "Good. Right. So. You ready?"

"Always. Bartolomeo, Giovanni, we'll meet you north of the fortress. Keep low until then, alright?

"No promises. Now hurry the fuck up!" Bartolomeo barked, but there was a lighter tone to his voice that hadn't been there before. Catherine dared to think it was hope, but she left the thought be as she and Ezio lifted the nearby gate, gestured to their Assassin recruits, and ventured out into the night.

It was time to kill some Frenchmen.

 **-O-**

It took more hours than they would have liked, but the job was done. The French had been scattered throughout the northern part of the Roman countryside, but all in all they'd managed to take down at least twenty soldiers and procured their armor. Their recruits made it infinitely easier, using them to take out large groups all at once. Casualties were essentially none beside one recruit—a young lad who got an unlucky bout—but he would survive the shallow cut to his side. His shirt was ruined, though, but being alive mattered more. The others were a bit weary after a long run, but they would do well. That, and the next phase of the plan didn't involve them having to wear clunky armor, so they could relax—for a bit.

Now it was time to dress the mercenaries. Transporting the armor was easy enough with the help of horses, and finding Bartolomeo's men wasn't too difficult. They were held up by a small ruins, and there the armory was distributed. The flashy, metallic armor was quite the change from their usual tunics, but the men wore it well—especially Giovanni, who looked quite gallant in his decadent plating. He grinned like an imp, no doubt impressed with himself, and even made a point to show off to his Uncle and Aunt.

"Yes, yes, you look absolutely _dashing_. You'll have to go visit your mother wearing it," Catherine laughed, adjusting the younger man's armor a bit so it looked better.

He beamed, "I know she'd just love it. I bet even 'Rico would be jealous!"

"Of course—sadly, I don't think we'll have any left over for him," Ezio snickered with a wink.

"You better for me," Bartolomeo spoke up, coming to stand with them. "Bring me a suit of that perverted armor."

Ezio glanced—knowingly—to Catherine as he met the man's eyes, "You're not wearing one."

"What?"

"Don't worry—it's all part of the plan," the redhead spoke, touching his arm gently. "You can't just go in disguised, too. They're not going to let their guard down if they think you haven't come yet. So, the idea is that we pretend to bring you in as a prisoner."

"As she says; you will 'surrender' to us, posing as a French squadron. We'll bring you to the Baron," her husband nodded, which Bartolomeo copied, then frowned.

"Then what?"

"Your men attack on my signal."

"Ah, good… but what of you and your Assassins?"

Catherine smirked, "We'll cover your asses. The battlements may be impassable, but the outer walls aren't. We'll scale those walls after you go in and attack them when they least expect it. It may not be much, but it means no one will come in from behind to attack. Then, if we're not too late, we'll join you in the main battle and attack from behind again."

"Excellent. Very good. Men! Get into formation!" the commander bellowed.

Catherine turned to her husband, "And you… get into that armor."

"You look rather excited," he mused wryly.

"I admit... I'm curios to see how you'll look. A proper shining knight."

"Careful, I might start wearing armor to bed."

"Oh, please, you'd hate it—too hard to get it all off quick enough. Now, hush, and get dressed," she laughed lightly, pulling him towards the ledge of the ruins where they'd brought all the gear. Changing was quick and easy, and her husband was soon adorned in decorated, suave French Captain attire. He looked the part, and was rather dashing with his blue cape flowing behind him. Not quite as dashing as in his hood, but it would fool the French and that was all that mattered.

"Alright, we're set," Ezio hummed, adjusting his bracers for a moment, before grasping his wife's chin gently to kiss her just the same. "Be safe. Watch out for the recruits."

"And _I'll_ watch that pretty rump of yours."

"Can you two _please_ hurry up? God help us, you worse than Mother and Father ever were," Giovanni scoffed from behind, and the two laughed.

"You'll understand once _you_ finally marry, my boy. Now get in line, soldier. Captain's orders," Ezio smirked, clapping the young man on the back, and heading to the front of the squad where Bartolomeo stood in his "manacles". Catherine watched them go, then turned to her recruits, whom stood at attention.

"Alright, it's time. We'll follow at a distance and assist as needed until we hit the fortress. Once there, we wait until they're through. Once they've let their guard down, we smoke them. One of you pretend to be some local causing a scene. Then we climb, infiltrate, and take out the camp. Then we head into the main area, got it?" the redhead spoke firmly, gaze spanning the lot of them. They all nodded. "Good. Remember, fight smart. You're no good to _Roma_ dead, so run if you must, and live to fight another day. Do well today, though, and you just might find yourselves taking the Oath. Now, move out. Keep to the shadows."

No more was said; there was no need to. Catherine and her Assassin recruits vanished even as the sun's rays began to trickle over the horizon, painting the blue sky with shades of red melding into the black. An ominous sight, but the redhead was sure it was French blood that would spill tonight. Her gut told her so, and there was a confidence within her heart and mind she hadn't had for a while. Perhaps it was a foolishness, but as she came upon their first obstacle, there was no hesitance; no second thought as she struck down the French guards even before Ezio's group arrived. Two fell by her hand, and the other two to her recruits. The bodies were moved as soon as they fell, and it was as though they were never there.

Catherine kept them moving, pausing only to make sure of the path to be taken, and then they ventured ahead and struck down any French they found who might pose a problem. It was more than she expected, and yet still her confidence did not waver. It was a strange thing, to be so sure of herself, and she did not recall the last time she had been. And it was then she realized she did not hear the voices—the whispers. Her mind was clear, as it had been for some time now, and it was liberating. She was more herself than she had been in so long, and she knew then the Banker's death by her hand had been no fluke.

She was Catherine Auditore, through and through, and the wolf's howls were naught but an echo in the night.

"They're approaching the fortress," the recruit who'd paired off with her—Agnolo was his name—spoke softly. The redhead looked up from her spot in the brush, not too far off, and decidedly in the shadows. No one would spot them here, and even she could not see where the others were. She'd trained them well.

"Good. Be ready for anything," she replied, and strained her ears to listen.

" _Declare yourself!"_ the guard on high barked in his native tongue.

Ezio replied clearly, " _My soldiers are taking the Italian captain to His Excellency the Baron. He wants to surrender._ "

"What part of France are you from?" the soldier asked this time, switching to Italian. Catherine's heart skipped a beat, hand going to her blade. Had he figured it out so quick?

" _Montreal,_ " her husband replied at once. A long pause followed, straining her lungs as she held her breath.

" _Open the gates!"_

Catherine exhaled and only relaxed her hand a little. Her part would come soon enough. For now, she watched the disguised mercenaries venture through. Glancing around, she made note of the spiked, wooden walls around the main entrance. It was their only real way in, although they could scale the wood if they were desperate. It would take a good trick, but it would work.

The redhead brought her fingers to her mouth and whistled once, twice. A chirp replied.

"Let's go. Wait for the smoke then rush," she told her recruit, whom grunted in confirmation. They moved out from the brush, keeping to the dark as much as possible even as sunlight peeked over the horizon. It took countless, heart-stopping seconds, but then—the burst of smoke. Loud coughing. Shouts of alarms. From the smoke a recruit clad in more common attire, but a hood to conceal his face, appeared. He was laughing, throwing taunts and mocking. The Frenchman fell for it as he pulled away from the smoke, cursing and threatening to gut "the boy". Of course, he would do no such thing. The bait had been cast, and while the guard—and others nearby—though it but a harmless prank by some Italian scum, it was much more. The Frenchman had no chance to understand his error, though, as a Hidden Blade pierced him from behind, into his heart. He gasped while his body grew slack and Catherine lowered him down. Beyond her, more hooded figured scaled through the smoke and down into the brush and remaining shadows of the camp.

She made a short bird call—nothing unusual to anyone who'd been here long. To her recruits, though, it was the sign to begin the hunt.

The French were caught unawares, and there was some satisfaction in that. Of course, not all of them were, but by the time they had begun to try and rally, their numbers had been more than halved. Those within the main gate had not noticed, either, but that had no doubt been because of Ezio's party causing a great show with their parade.

That, and a fight had apparently started. The gunshot made everyone pause—even the Frenchmen. Catherine cursed, recognizing the sound. It wasn't like those of Borgia's men, which meant it came from Ezio's Hidden Blade. Something had gone somewhat wrong, else he wouldn't have blown his cover.

"Are you good?!" she shouted to her closest recruits.

"We got it—go!"

Catherine didn't reply, tearing off at a hard sprint through the main gate. Any Frenchmen that had remained were gone, heading towards the battleground further in. She took to the rooftops to cut time, scaling up the brick wall with ease. The sounds of fighting lead her right to the main fray. Blood pooled on the stones and painted blades and spears alike. Most of the mercenaries were still standing, but some had fallen. Giovanni was fine, fighting back to back with Bartolomeo, whom looked unharmed. She didn't see the Baron or Pantasilea, but she did spot Ezio racing off further in. She followed, noting the French were hardly finished. He was going to need some help. Her husband was thankfully easy enough to keep up with, and she almost laughed as she beat him to the spot he was climbing up.

She held out her hand, enjoying the surprise on his face, "Need a hand?"

"I certainly wouldn't mind," he chuckled, accepting her aid. "The others?"

"They're good. They'll help the mercenaries and clean house. Now—where to?"

"This way. Keep close and be careful—the Baron has Pantasilea as his hostage. He'll kill her if we act rashly."

"Damn! What a cock-sucking piece of shit!" she growled, taking off at a sprint with Ezio.

He laughed between pants, "You sound like Bartolomeo!"

"Ha! Now that's a compliment!" she grinned, then spared any more breath for getting air to her lungs as they leaped across rooftops, rolled into runs on lower sections, and avoided detection of any archers. They had to work quickly to keep Bartolomeo's wife from being killed, and it was, as usual, never easy. Another gate was situated within the fortress, and it was both sealed and blocked by spearmen. The redhead scowled, but her husband merely motioned for her to follow him forward. They were above them on an adjacent rooftop and the guards' eyes were ahead. They hardly knew what was coming as the two Assassins took a running leap and landed on them; Ezio's twin blades taking out two guard's throats, and Catherine's single burying into the other. One guard remained, spooked and staggering back. The redhead was quick to lunge forward, shoving her Hidden Blade up into his jugular. He choked on blood as he fell, forgotten by his attackers as Ezio rushed to spin the gate's wheel mechanism.

"I see him! He's going back behind the building!" the redhead called, glimpsing the general's golden armor and Pantasilea's darker dress moving towards the far side of the courtyard to the building. "He's— _fuck_!"

"'Cat!" Ezio rasped, quickly yanking her to his chest as he pulled back into cover. A gunshot had nearly taken off her head, but she was alright. He made sure of course, but then got to a crouch as they passed beneath the gate. "Oh, great. Gunmen. We need to keep a low profile and get back there—especially with Pantasilea at gunpoint."

"No kidding. He has decent aim, too, fucking French shit," she snapped as she scanned the courtyard. "Alright, we go right—I see only two of the gunmen. We take them out, and we're good."

"Then let's do it. Go, go!"

They moved as quickly and quietly as they could. Every second was too long, and every step too loud. Every motion was too visible, and yet, the gunmen on the far right didn't notice them as they came closer. The redhead held her breath as Ezio made the final stretch, rushing forward suddenly, and rammed his Blade into the man's back. He fell with a gasp, and her husband slit his throat after. She rushed by him, aiming for the gunmen at the top of the courtyard. He'd shoot them before they got too close, so she scaled the wall as quickly and quietly as she could, paused for the right moment, and took him down silently. Ezio was behind her in a second and they tip-toed close to the edge of the building.

Down below, the Baron paced. He must have shoved Pantasilea to the ground at some point, for she was sprawled down on her knees, dress splayed out around her, and hands bound behind her back. She looked a little roughed up and her face was pale, but she kept a strong expression. Even with death so possibly close she remained proud and confident. Her captor, though, oozed with fear. He knew death was coming and he could not escape it. He turned his back, and Catherine meant to reach out to urge her husband to take the chance, but he was already moving. With a great leap he descended upon the Baron, crashing onto him so he hit the ground hard. His Blade found his neck, striking a vital line. Catherine leaped down as well, though she rushed to Pantasilea's side, helping her up and checking her for injuries. Thankfully, she was fine.

"No, no—I… I only… wanted respect," the Baron rasped, the life leaving him.

"Respect is earned, not inherited or purchased," Ezio replied, holding the man in his arm.

The Baron closed his eyes for a moment, "Perhaps you are right… I need more time…"

"May you be equal in death," the Assassin spoke softly as the Baron's eyes closed again—this time for the last time, and he let out a final breath of air. "Rest in peace."

"You are far kinder than I would have been," the Lady d'alvino spat, voice thick with bitterness.

Catherine chuckled, "Part of being an Assassin. We have to show respect for the dead, regardless of how cruel or terrible they are. Are you sure you're alright?"

"As I can be," the woman half-smiled.

"Pantasilea!" Bartolomeo's voice cried out from behind them, and the woman's smile grew as bright as the rising sun. She happily rushed to her husband, who embraced her and cupped her cheek tenderly. "Don't ever disappear again! I was lost without you."

"Really? But you rescued me."

"Ezio and Catherine came up with a brilliant plan."

The Auditore raised a brow, "I did not. It was all your husband's idea."

"It was?" the mercenary hummed.

" _You_ are my prince," Pantasilea smiled and wrapped her arms around Bartolomeo. A smile came upon his face as well, so gentle and happy and relieved that Catherine almost did a double take. She couldn't recall an expression on the man's face before.

"Now I better earn that title—but first, let us get you to safety, my love. My men and I will escort you," he replied softly.

"You will," she nodded, and strolled by him, though paused to send a knowing look to the Lady and Lord Auditore. " _Thank-you_."

Catherine let her—and Bartolomeo—go out of sight before she sighed, "Damn. That woman doesn't miss anything. And here I thought we could really give the big lug all the credit."

"She's the perfect woman for him, that's for sure," Ezio chuckled. "I'm just glad it all went well. Bartolomeo and his wife are alive and well, our recruits will make damned good Assassins, and another of Cesare's allies is dead."

"Yeah, I admit I'm surprised it _did_ go so well," the redhead hummed, turning around so as to crouch down beside the deceased Baron. She reached over and closed his eyelids. "So. That's two down… leaving Micheletto and Cesare himself. Things are moving fast."

"Yes, they are… but we'll be ready. You and I, we'll see it through."

"…Yeah," Catherine nodded, standing up, and looking to her husband with a bright, confident shine to her eyes. "Yeah, we will."

* * *

 **28** – _End_

* * *

 **TMWolf:** _Alright, one more target down! Cesare is almost at the chopping block, but first... we have to deal with Michelleto! But for now they get a short break, which Bartolomeo and his wife need! I always loved them together. They were so cute and balanced each other so well. Pantasilea was great xD_

 _And this is a good chapter for 'Cat. She's definitely almost totally herself and gaining even more and more confidence. Giovanni A. is also earning his own stripes, and Giovanni B. is steadily becoming a part of the Assassin and Auditore fold._

 _So. Time for some dire times for Assassin allies... and the fate of Michelleto!_


	29. Greatest Change I

**TMWolf:** _Sorry for the delay! I did mean to post earlier, but I got very, very busy this weekend! But now I'm good to post and here we kinda start the beginning of the end. Crazy to think there's only like 3 chapters to go! It's almost over folks!_

 _And so a lot of things start moving this chapter. We'll see more changes to the story line, kinda. And it's getting to the End game! Hold onto your butts!_

 _Thank-you for all your wonderful reviews and comments! They always make me happy X)_

 _So this chapter is from Legend of Korra's soundtrack - Greatest Change_

* * *

 **29** – _Greatest Change I_

* * *

 **August 14, 1503**

 **Rome, Italy**

"I feel a little guilty leaving the kids—Diana wanted to come sooo badly," Catherine chuckled as she dismounted her steed. Ezio did the same and took her reigns to bring the horses to the stable.

"She did make _quite_ the pout, but I'd rather her not come here until she's older," Ezio grinned wryly. "Don't get me wrong— _Volpe_ is as safe as can be, but the inn isn't exactly a place for a young girl. Or young boys."

"True. I'd rather all three of them _not_ learn about gambling, alcohol, and, uh, not-Claudia's-girls. They at least can be tactful when the kids are around."

"Because Mother would skin them alive. Verbally. But still—skin them. They respect Mother and Claudia too much, too, and I imagine even Federico would get upset," the Lord Auditore mused, snickering even.

"Pssh. More like he'd laugh it up. Giovanni would join him as soon as his brother told him, too. Even Claudia can't whoop that out of them. They _do_ carry some of their fathers' genes—and their Uncle's," she mused, eyes twinkling mischievously.

Ezio mock-pouted, "Hey! I was… okay, no, I _was_ that bad, but still. Either way, Diana and Giovanni will learn to get over it and keep busy with training. And Mario is, thankfully, too young to know why he's upset about it."

"Thankfully… but God he is growing fast. I'm only so glad he is _far_ easier going than our little girl was. I haven't had any trouble with him so far. He's so inquisitive, though. I may need to have him go visit Leonardo for full days some time just to satisfy his curiosity."

"I think that's not a bad idea… when it's _safe_ ," her husband rumbled, and she hummed in agreement. Despite all their work for their artist friend, he was still under Borgia influence, and to be seen intimately associated with her or her family was just too dangerous. They would simply have to do with the occasional visit and teaching lessons.

"Well, at the very least we can rest easy knowing he'll grow up with good company. I'm glad little Giovanni came to stay with us. Diana has been looking livelier, too. I think she's glad to have a friend a bit closer to her age—someone she can already teach how to fight."

"Aaah, she takes after her mother more than we thought," Ezio snickered.

"What can I say? She got the good genes," she winked back, earning a proper laugh. "Ah, but they're growing up so fast, I swear. I feel like it was only yesterday I had to carry Diana all the time. Even Mario was barely getting on his own when we brought him back, now look at him! He's already reading and doing all sorts of things. It won't be long before Diana is a teenager! With Giovanni we'll have _two_ in our midst, but hopefully with him being in the fold so young it won't be too bad."

Ezio chuckled, pulling her for a quick hug, "I'm sure it will be fine. The three of them are going to make good friends, which will help. He'll fit in fine here. That, and, I admit, I'm already fond of him. He's got spirit."

"I'm glad you do. I won't lie—I was a bit worried about making the decision without you… after I did it, of course, but still. I just hope we can do right by him. He doesn't speak of it properly, but… he was definitely scarred. Agnese told me he was never hit, but… Micheletto was scruel. Cesare, too. The only one who even seemed to care some was Lucrezia, as crazy as that sounds. Seems she wasn't a _total_ heartless cow."

Her husband grinned, "Is that you changing your mind about her?"

She snorted, "Of course not. I still have a firm hatred for her in my heart, _but_ … She's obviously not all bad like her brother."

"No, definitely not, but we can talk about that later. _La Volpe_ is waiting," Ezio hummed, gesturing to the door behind them, which barely muted the sounds of revelry within. She made an "ah" sound and pressed by him to open the door. Sure enough, a raucous chorus of laughter, curses, squeals, shouts, and singing blasted their ears while the smell of wine, sex, and everything in between hit their noses. It was certainly a sight to behold, the tremendous crowd of denizens around the many tables and at the single bar where the taps ran freely. Courtesans danced about or "entertained" in other ways, and on one side of the room an intense game of dice and cards was going on. Someone was no doubt losing money and another taking it for his own—all in the Assassins' favor, of course.

The two Assassins entered casually, avoiding any drunken guests, and made for the bar while glancing around for the infamous fox. He was ever illusive, and never made it easy to find him in the dimly lit place. Indeed, just as they began to wonder if he was even there, he appeared in all his orange-colored glory—just like his namesake. All he was missing was ears and a tail.

"Hello, Ezio, Catherine, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"It's time to pay a visit to Lucrezia's lover, Pietro."

The older man chuckled, "Yes, I did mention it—an actor and poet has the Lady Borgia's fancy at the moment, despite being married to the Duke of Ferrara."

"Of course," Catherine hummed, her tone dry and icy.

Ezio nudged her, "And?"

"I have sent my men out to find him."

"Good, we'll meet up with them then," the Auditore nodded, turning to head out. La Volpe stepped forward, though, calling out to him.

"If I may…"

"What is it?"

A somber look came over the fox's face, "Someone warned Rodrigo to stay away from the _Castello_ when you made your attack two years ago."

"What? How can you be sure after so long? Who would even do that?" Catherine guffawed, though kept her voice low.

"I have had to mull on it for some time, my Lady, and gather evidence among my men, but I am certain. Rodrigo was _warned_."

"…You believe it was Machiavelli," Ezio spoke, earning a confirming glance and a spread of his arms. The Assassin—and his wife—sighed, though more with a mixture of frustration and exasperation. "Do you have proof this time?"

 _La Volpe's_ frowned, "No."

"I know this had weighed heavy on your mind for all these years, but we must not be split apart by mere suspicion," he replied, his voice firm as he jabbed at the ground. Before _La Volpe_ could speak, the door to the inn burst open and a thief rushed through. He panted and was sweaty, as if having rushed as fast he could. His frantic expression did not bode well. Catherine braced herself.

"The Borgia know the locations of our spies!"

"Who told them?" his leader inquired.

"I… I'm not sure… But Master Machiavelli asked about our search for Pietro earlier today."

Catherine hated how bad that sounded, but their friend wasn't a traitor. He couldn't be—not after all he'd done to ensure the safety of the Order. He'd been with it from even before she was an Assassin, even before he'd first revealed himself in _Venezia_ all those years ago. Why would he betray them all of a sudden? Why help Ezio when their home had fallen? Why take in their daughter and see to her safety—and Giovanni's? Why keep helping them when he could simply wipe them out?

Yet, she couldn't simply let it slide. Nor could Ezio, and she knew he thought the same when their eyes met. He was frustrated, but he could not say no. It would be an insult to _La Volpe_ , and to ignore his concerns would be a slap to the face. They needed his trust and loyalty—and friendship—as much as the others. They would have to look into it.

"It doesn't prove anything, but… we can't ignore it. We need to help your spies first, though," Catherine sighed, touching the thief's shoulder briefly, whom nodded, though he still was not totally pleased. She doubt he would be until they took down Machiavelli, but that wouldn't happen. The man was innocent. She was sure of it.

Ezio led the way outside, _Volpe_ , Catherine, and the thief right on their heels. It was a good thing they were already equipped and ready to go—they had barely made it a few steps when horses came pounding towards the little rural town, and their rides bore the Borgia red.

"You did not lose your pursuers!?" _La Volpe_ hissed, slapping the thief behind the head. The man gave a pathetic look as his leader drew his dagger. "Ezio, if you do not mind…?"

"We can't have your little den getting found now can we?" her husband mused wryly, although a scowl was etched on his face as he approached the dismounting riders. The redhead drew her blade as he did, and their enemy followed in suit.

The clash was small and relatively quick. A few more thieves came to join them in the brawl, which was useful when another wave of Borgia came by. It ended in their victory, of course, and ten Borgia bodies littered the courtyard while only one thief did. No loss was a good loss, but it was better than having the den discovered Thankfully, the bodies would be gone soon enough with the thieves knowing how to "dispose" of such things very well, which left the Thief Leader and the two Assassins to mount their own steeds and head off into the countryside once more.

"I still don't believe Machiavelli has turned traitor," Ezio shouted as they pushed the horses into a light canter.

 _La Volpe_ almost scoffed, "First the _Villa_ attack, then the _Castello_ , and now this. He is behind it all."

"Except Machiavelli is the one who brought us into the Order, and he's the one who's helped us all this time! Our Order would be nothing like it is without him!" Catherine rejoined, earning a glance from under the hood.

"All a ploy. I am certain of it."

"A bit _complex_ and not very helpful to the Borgia if it is."

"Because he seeks to be rid of both of his enemies at once. I have seen such tactics, and you both know the cruelty and terrible lengths the Templars will go to achieve their goals."

"Even so… we must have proof _La Volpe_ ," Ezio replied this time. "We owe Machiavelli too much to simply believe he has betrayed us."

"Then I will give it to you—ah! There! Hurry, one of my men is in trouble!" the fox barked, pointing to an old structure used for living and shops in the distance, not far from some of the ancient roman fields. Sure enough, a lone thief faced off against three Borgia dogs, his comrades already slain. The trio urged their horses into a gallop, closing the distance in seconds. The battle to come lasted much longer, the group ducking and dodging blow after blow until, at last, the final swordsman fell to a Hidden Blade.

Their rescued thief leaned against a nearby wooden fence to catch his breath, his body scraped, bleeding, and bruised, but he was very much so alive. His comrades, however, had not been so lucky, and remained motionless in their own puddles of blood. _La Volpe_ regarded each for a reverent moment before he came to his remaining man.

"What were you able to find out?"

He wiped a bit of blood from his lip, "Pietro is to be assassinated this evening. Cesare sent his butcher."

" _Micheletto_?" Catherine breathed, memories returning in flashes that left a bitter burning in her gut that suited the scowl on her face.

"Yes. The best killer in _Roma_. No one escapes him."

"We did before, and it will happen again tonight," Ezio growled softly, wielding his own hatred. "Come on, let's hurry to your men."

"They are near the baths, quickly!" _La Volpe_ barked, leaping onto his horse, and racing off. The two Assassins only exchanged a look before following in suit, their pace set to as fast as they dared.

It thankfully was not too far, but again they were too late to prevent the death of two of their allies. The guards had cut them down and even kicked their lifeless bodies with a laugh. Just feet away, a single survivor remained. He was injured—one arm hung limp by his side, painted red—but kept a dagger up despite his poor situation. Four guards began to converge on him, but they would only get within feet before _La Volpe_ surged his horse through them, striking one directly and sending him flying. He did not get up, though he did howl in agony. The others only stumbled and gasped in surprise before they bellowed with rage and turned their attention from the thief. Ezio and Catherine leaped into the fray then, rolling up from their fall from their horses and meeting steel with steel. The injured thief retreated to safety as they fought, back to back and parrying sword and spear. Ducking and dodging, they struck, metal slicing flesh, and four more Borgia dogs fell.

"Just like the good old days, eh?" Catherine chuckled as she wiped her blade on the grass.

"My back hurts a bit more than it did back then," Ezio snickered, similarly cleaning his Hidden Blades.

"Oh, hush, you're only in your forties," she quipped back before turning to _La Volpe_ , whom inspected his thief's wound. "How bad is it?"

"He'll live, thankfully. Were you able to uncover anything about Pietro?" the leader asked as he took the thief's scarf and used it as a makeshift bandage.

The thief winced, but nodded, "The man is performing in a play tonight."

"Good, you did well. Now, hurry and return to the Den so the Doctor can see to you. Quickly! Keep out of sight!" _La Volpe_ rasped, gesturing for him to go. The thief nodded, spared his fallen comrades a final look, and then stole a nearby horse and sped off. His leader turned to the two Assassins, his face grim. "Four more thieves gone. We have one more location. I pray we make it in time."

This time, they did.

The venture took them towards a populated area in the rural parts of _Roma_ , situated on top of a ruin and well. Again, the thieves were under attack, but they were holding firm. One had been sliced on the leg, but he would survive with no issue. Their enemy had fallen in their stead, and there was a palpable feeling of relief among the group as _La Volpe_ conferred with them about the actor like he had with the others.

"He is to be suspended from a cross. Micheletto will come for him with a spear."

"Good, you did well. You should return to your safe house here to mend and lay low until all is clear," the fox replied, clapping the young man on the arm.

The thief motioned off in a direction, "Giorgio knows more. He got the others to the safe house before we were cut off. Thankfully, they did not see where he went."

"Excellent. Let's go," his leader nodded and gestured for Catherine and Ezio to follow him. They moved a few streets over, coming to yet one of many unfinished houses. Their contact knocked on the door three times then twice, and a moment later the door opened. Their injured thieves were hurried inside while Giorgio, or Catherine assumed that's who it was, slunk outside to speak with them.

"What do you know of Pietro? Where is he?"

He shrugged, "I cannot tell you. But Micheletto waits at the city gate east of the _Baths of Trajan_. He intends to disguise his men to make the killing look like an accident."

"Good, go on, then. See to your brothers," the fox replied, urging the thief off. He turned to his two comrades, whom met his gaze.

"Micheletto will lead us to Lucrezia's lover."

"Ezio, Catherine… Machiavelli has betrayed us. You may wish to deny it—even _I_ wish to, but the truth is now clear."

Catherine grit her teeth. She didn't want to take this stance; she didn't want to push his buttons and insult him, but this was too much. Machiavelli had become a close friend—almost like family—and he'd done so much for them. She didn't know why _La Volpe_ was so set on believing it was true, but it was _he_ who was blind to the truth. She only wished she could find the true traitor and show him.

"Yes, it is—that _you_ don't have any real proof," she spoke, earning a quick look from her husband, and a flicker of surprise that turned into a glare.

"Is not the blood of my men proof enough!? Who else could have known their locations? My thieves would never betray each other, and it was Machiavelli who was asking about them! And who is it of us that fraternizes with our enemy hmm? Who goes to their courts? Who speaks with the supporters of the Borgia so kindly and shares their wine, hmm? Who was the one to leave the _Villa_ just before it fell? Who was it that was seen conferring with Borgia guards? My thieves see all and tell all. Machiavelli. Is. A. Traitor!" the man snarled, jabbing a finger at the ground.

"That is coincidence, _La Volpe_ , and you know it," she barked back. "Correlation isn't causation, and he's done far more to help us than hinder us. We can't just go after him—especially not _kill_ him—without concrete proof!"

The thief's eyes were cold, "If you will not do what needs to be done, then _I_ will."

" _Volpe_ —!" Ezio called as the older man spun on his heel and stormed off, but he would not be swayed. The Assassin groaned, rubbing his face, and looked to his wife.

"What? You think the same."

He sighed this time, "I do, but… dammit all! I didn't want to have things come to this… Fuck. We have to hurry. We need to prove Machiavelli's innocence _and_ save Pietro."

"We need to hurry and find Micheletto at the gate and stop his plans. But _La Volpe_ won't help us, and his thieves were hit too hard. We're going to need our recruits."

"We have a coop nearby. Let's send a message and have them meet us. I'll call for as many as are available. We don't know how many we'll need for the play," Catherine mused, glancing around until she spotted the structure not far off. It would be a simple message, so it only took a few minutes to scratch out where to meet them and to do it _now_. It would take only minutes for the pigeon to reach their fortress, and minutes more for their Assassins to arrive, but it was enough time.

"Ready?" Ezio called once she released the bird and she nodded. They headed off towards the gate to the east of the small town. It wasn't far, and already there was movement at the gate. Ezio nudged her towards a vantage on a nearby small cliff obscured a bit by trees. There they hunkered down, watching as the group of men—and soldiers—paraded under the metal bars of the gate that dropped down behind them as soon as they were through. It was impossible to mistake the extravagant armor and red colors of Cesare—Catherine tensed at the sight of him—and beside him was his dog. She'd know the man anywhere, and unlike Lucrezia, she felt nothing but unrelenting hatred for him.

It was different from before, though, that she was sure of. For one, she had clarity in her mind, and the madness that had overcome her the first time was not there. This was a different kind of loathing that was on par with that for Cesare. Two men who needed to die, to free _Roma_ from a terrible scourge.

There was another man with them, though; one she didn't recognize. He was being held by their guards, his arms bound behind his back and face blind-folded, so was he an enemy of the Borgia? She couldn't be sure, and she couldn't quite make out what they were saying. Cesare's body language was tense and aggressive, though. Even what should have been a friendly, intimate gesture—touching the man's cheeks with his hands—was dangerous. Worse still, Micheletto was stalking closer, something in his grasp. He was like a vulture, circling in for the kill. Then—the strike. A rope flashed into sight and wrapped around the unknown man's neck.

They couldn't help him. They could only watch for an agonizing long five minutes as Micheletto strangled him, the rope pulled so tight it cut off his air. His body went slack, and the Borgia dog let him drop. Catherine's gut twisted.

"Ezio… we can't let him live—not this time," she spoke softly, eyes locked on the man. She only dared turn away when she felt her husband's hand take hers.

"He will. This time, I swear it. Even if he knows about our traitor, he'll die."

"Good. He's harmed and killed enough people… ah, damn, they're leaving," she growled as movement caught her eyes. Cesare moved back through the re-opened gate, while Micheletto took what looked like cloth from the guards. He approached a nearby horse next, mounted it, and took off. Both Assassins moved quickly, racing towards a horse not far off. A silent apology was all they could offer to the owner as Ezio hopped up and pulled the redhead up behind him, kicking the beast into a gallop to catch up with their target. He slowed, though, to ensure he wouldn't notice them once they were close enough.

"Be ready for anything, kitty-Cat. We don't know his full plan. I can only assume the cloth he has is a costume for the play."

"Sounds about right. It looked like a lot for one person, though—is he bringing more men with him?"

"Probably. We need to intercept them then. Maybe even replace them without recruits."

"Not just maybe. We _will_. Look," Catherine chuckled, pointing to their right. Heading towards them was a group of five horses, and on each was an Assassin clad in white. No words were needed; the redhead merely made a gesture of acknowledgement and a second gesture to lay back a bit. They knew what to do, which made it all the easier to tail Micheletto to one of the larger ruins in the _Roma_ countryside. She could never remember the name, but it reminded her of a magnificent, overly large palace with its layout and many columns and arches. It also had the amount of guards she would expect for one, too. As such, they dismounted at a safe spot, watching as their target passed through a barrier of Borgia goons.

"So what's the plan, Mentors?" their Assassins inquired, their focus steeled and ready to do their duty.

"For now, we sneak in and see what the man in the dark robes is up to. His name is Micheletto—you may know him—and he's _very_ dangerous. Do _not_ let your guard down. Kill the Borgia soldiers if you must, but we need to lay low and not be found out. We're tailing him to another target—one we're trying to keep alive," she explained quickly, and was given nods of confirmation. "Good. Alright, Ezio, make the call."

He only waited a few seconds as guards moved out of the way before motioning them forward. They slunk by the main contingent by the stairs to clamber up the brick walls and quickly skirted through the pillars and arches. They kept an eye out for Micheletto as they snuck through the ruins, keeping a watch for other guards and even taking them out if need be. Thankfully, their venture proved fruitful, and after a tense trek they finally found a safe perch and watched as their target approached a group of men, five in total. His words weren't understandable with how low he spoke, but he handed the garments to the men and headed off.

"Damn… alright, you guys—get those costumes. We'll keep on the target's tail," Catherine spoke quickly. They nodded and took off. Thankfully, the guards didn't move too far, which made things easier, but while the time to do it gave the redhead and her husband a good lead, it gave Micheletto a greater one. He'd kept his horse at an easier pace than before, but it was still a while before Catherine saw her recruit's horses rushing to catch up to them. At the same time, their target finally picked up the pace, weaving through the crowds and roads that pressed through cities and ruins that slowly made their way towards a familiar structure. Even as the sun had started to set, bringing on a blanket of darkness, the Il _Colosseo_ was unmistakable with its enormous walls and unique construct. Their target made a straight bee-line for it, never wavering as he approached the guards at the front.

"Looks like we won't get in that way… or well, Ezio and I won't, but looks like you five can," the redhead mused, noting the group of actors dressed as Romans who were welcomed well enough.

Ezio chuckled, "Hope you don't mind looking like those guys."

"Well, can't say I like the skirt," one of them—a young, brown-haired man—frowned, the garment in his hands.

"Will this even fit me? I mean, it should hide I'm a woman, but," another hummed, holding up the chest place.

The man next to her grinned impishly, "You're a little too short, too."

"Pfft. You're barely an inch taller than her, Borso," another gentleman snickered, earning a punch to the arm.

"Alright, alright, cool it down. I'll wear your costume—I need to get close to Micheletto, too," Ezio chuckled, holding his hand out. The young woman didn't hesitate to hand it over, but she did look to her Mentors for instruction.

Catherine hummed, "I can't sneak in with a costume then, either… hey, ah… Salvaza, was it? Oh, good. Right, so… how are you climbing skills?"

"The best. I can out match these sorry bastards any day," she smirked, earning a chorus of "hey!" and "fuck you"'s. She laughed it up, as did they.

"Well, good, because you and I are going to be climbing our way in. I can already see some gunmen up on the higher runs from here, so we'll want to get rid of them. You good?" the redhead replied, and the woman nodded. "Good. Then you lot need to get dressed. We don't know how much time we have. You can change behind the building there."

"As the lady commands, boys. Come on," Ezio chuckled, leading the way. Catherine gave him a sweet wave before turning to Salvaza to discuss the task at hand. She recalled the woman did have good skills—especially with free running, and she was both quiet and quick. She'd taken a liking to the poison blades Leonardo had fashioned for use, which suited her style. They would have to work quickly to scour the walls to where the gunmen were, then keep watch from on high to make sure everything went as planned. By the time her recruit had agreed, the men returned, no longer clad in white, but red shirts and skirts, and gray armor. They looked rather handsome in a way, although they were unused to the garb.

"Well, we're as ready as we can be. You?" Ezio inquired, coming over to his wife as he put his helmet on his head.

She chuckled as she helped him clasp it together and adjusted his gear, "We're good. You look very handsome by the way. You should keep the costume."

"Oh?" he inquired, smirking, and she only winked. He chuckled as he turned to his fellow soldiers. "Alright. We need to get going. Stay close and play the part. With luck, we won't have any lines. Leave Micheletto to me but watch out for Borgia guards."

"Understood, Mentor. We're ready."

"Alright, let's go, Salvaza," Catherine motioned, and she and the young woman darted off towards the left while the men went to the right, heading for the entrance.

The redhead was glad to see her recruit keep up with her as they rushed over to the _Colosseo_ , keeping an eye on where guards were looking. She was even more pleased to see her climbing with ease, matching her pace despite the tricky footing. That, and the walls were fairly worn, so some grips were shaky or cracked. Still, the woman kept up, and it wasn't too long before Catherine pulled herself over the ledge and pressed against the nearby wall. Salvaza pushed her back to the other and they inched forward, listening and watching for any guards. Thankfully, the gunmen were not stationed at their particular spot. It gave them the advantage despite being outnumbered two to five.

"I've got the right, you go left. Keep an eye out for our men below after you're done—watch for Ezio's silver bracers," she whispered to her comrade, whom nodded, and then they were moving again.

The first went down easy, having not even known she was there until her Hidden Blade found the back of his throat. She shoved him down and skirted the distance to the next. He saw her at the last second and almost shouted in alarm, but she struck his face with her firs, tripped his leg out from under him, and shove the Blade into his chest. He made a gurgle and went still. One more remained, and he was a fighter. Catherine was glad no one else was around, because he let out a sound of surprise and even a curse as he tried to aim his gun, which jammed. He resorted to a short dagger, but even that would not save him. She deflected it with her Blade, grabbed his wrist to yank him forward, and shoved the weapon into his gut. He gasped, dropped to his knees, and rolled over as he bled out. She cut his throat just in case.

Catherine looked out to the play, her work done. A decent crowd was there, entranced by the display of Christ on the Cross. She wasn't sure which one was Pietro, nor was she sure who Micheletto was with torches being the main light, but she thought he was maybe the one in the black shirt. He had the right hair and body shape, anyways. She almost couldn't find her husband and Assassins, but then she saw a glint of light reflecting off silver. Good. He was doing alright and moving about in the "stage". She quickly scanned around and found more soldiers loitering about.

Damn. There was a lot.

Catherine glanced up and saw Salvaza was done and had met her gaze. She motioned to the guards a level below then and received a nod. Good. The woman understood. There was a lot, but if they picked them off slowly, it would work, or at least make things easier.

Glancing down, the redhead noted the single guard below. Any others were walking away at the moment or were far off enough they wouldn't notice right away. Readying her blade, she took the plunge. The man grunted when her weight fell on him, crumpling his legs. She shoved her weapon into his neck to be sure, then made a beeline for the closest group. It was a brute and a swordsman, the latter she took out at once with a blow through his back and into his heart. The brute gasped in surprise, but she sprung at him, shoving her Blade into his neck, right through the space in his armor. He coughed red splatters and made to swing at her, but she side-stepped it, and he staggered forward only to fall and drown in his own blood.

Catherine jogged onwards, keeping to the shadows as best as she could to make the next move. It was waylaid, though, as screams erupted from the crowd. She stopped short, moving to one of the space between pillars. She was slammed into by the audience that came her way, but she kept steady and pressed through. She came out upon a battle scene as Borgia guards met Roman ones, and one female Assassin recruit. On the hill, Ezio had a hold of their target by the collar. He hadn't yet made the killing blow, which concerned her, so she rushed forward. A guard made to stop her, but she simply ducked and slashed him as she went. Dodging the rest was easy enough, but she made a point to take down one guard who had tried to come upon Ezio. He fell with a strike to the face, leaving a deep gash from his chin to his brow. She ignored his screams as she came near, turning to face the crowd.

"He poisoned Pietro!" her husband shouted, and the Borgia dog laughed.

"So, your woman has come as well. Ah, how nostalgic," he laughed. "Come for your 'vengeance' again? Will you have to stop your rabid bitch this time I wonder?"

"You will hold your tongue," Ezio hissed, though paused when Catherine put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't give him the satisfaction. He's not worth it," she spoke, looking down at the man, who suddenly did not seem so cocky. "He's barely even worth killing."

"You will not win—you cannot! We know all your secrets!" he snarled, suddenly struggling in Ezio's grip. He stopped, though, when steel met the flesh of his neck. He made a choking sound, touching at his neck where red began to soak his collar. Ezio let him fall, and he lay there, eyes wide and mouth agape at the sky. Catherine looked down on him, the fight fading from her focus as blood trickled off her Blade.

"I am _nothing_ like you," she murmured, and, not caring if he heard, returned her mind to the task at hand. "Get him down—we'll take care of the guards!"

"Hurry! We may not have long!" Ezio barked back, taking out throwing knives to cut through the ties of the actor, whom yelped in surprise and confusion. Catherine moved back into the fray, ramming her shoulder into a guard charging at one of her own. He went tumbling, and she followed him down to strike him in the chest. Her Assassins were holding strong, thought she could tell one or two had been injured already. They were winning, though, and by the time she'd taken down two more Borgia—and received two cuts, one to her arm and another to her leg—they were victorious.

"More might be coming. Everyone, group on Ezio and cover him!" she barked, drawing her sword for an extra weapon. Behind them, her husband carried the actor, who looked wounded, but it was only his "make up". He _was_ groggy-looking, though, as if not all there, and groaned uncomfortably. The poison was working, which meant they needed to get going. She motioned and they made for the exit. As she guessed, more guards came, but they fended them off, pushing through to the exit where Ezio moved into as quick of a jog as he could. By some miracle, a doctor was not far away, stationed safely between some ruined homes that gave them a bit of privacy. While he went on ahead, the redhead turned to her recruits, taking in their state. As far as she could tell, they were just minorly wounded.

"Alright, well done, all of you. Hurry and return to either the sanctuary or any place you know is safe. Stay low for a few days, then report back to us. Get to a doctor if needed. You did great. You've done the Order proud," she smiled warmly, and she saw their shoulders rise some. "Now, go! Hurry before more guards come!"

They scattered and she sighed in relief. A _lot_ of things could have gone wrong, but it was finally over. Well, mostly over. Pietro was still in danger, but she could already see the Doctor was giving the man medicine. Ezio's shoulders visibly relaxed as she came by him and he breathed a sigh out through his nose. He spared her a smile, though, and asked her to wait for him as he trotted off—towards the spot they'd originally started from, she noted. She took the time to regard what had happened, especially the death of Micheletto. Before, she would have indulged in the sight of his bloodied corpse. Hell, she would have done anything to make him suffer agony before he went, but his quick death had been enough. There was no joy or elation, just a sense of having done her duty; of having done what was required of an Assassin.

She was relieved by the notion.

"So, will he live?" she inquired of the Doctor, whom nodded.

"Yes, although leeches will lead to a full recovery… ah, there we are, my good Sir," the healer hummed, putting a hand on Pietro's back as the man lifted himself up.

He groaned, "I… feel better. Ah, you… you were at the play… and—oh! You! You are the one who saved me, thank-you."

Ezio returned, fully armored once more, held out his hand, and spoke plainly, "The key to the _Castel Sant'Angelo_. Now."

"What are you talking about? I am simply a poor actor—," Pietro began to ramble.

Catherine rolled her eyes with a sigh, "We know about you and Lucrezia. And so does Cesare—otherwise he wouldn't have sent his dog to _poison you_."

" _Oh_ …. H-here."

"Good. Now keep your head low," Ezio hummed, taking the key dropped into his hand and turning away. Catherine followed him, a small smirk at her lips.

"Well, that went pretty good."

"I admit, I'm surprise it did," he chuckled back, glancing to her. He did a double take, though, and picked up her hand—the one attached to her wounded arm. "You're hurt."

"Couple of lucky swipes. Nothing bad. I'll be good as new by tomorrow. For now, we need to focus on the next step of our plan for getting into the _Castel_ … and how to deal with _Volpe_. We need to find Machiavelli, too, and keep him safe."

Ezio scowled, "Damn… I almost forgot. Shit. I think Machiavelli is at his _Villa_. We will need to… to…."

Catherine frowned, watching her husband's gaze move somewhere beyond her. She spun around, but nothing seemed out of place. At least, not until she saw a thief. Normally, that wasn't too terribly unusual, but she didn't think _Volpe_ had some right by the _Colosseo_ , and he was coming _from_ within—in a hurry, too. He looked worried, and when he turned their way and spotted them, he froze.

"He… wait— _you_! You were at the _Villa_ during the attack!" Ezio suddenly barked, and the thief bolted. "Fuck! Catherine, we have to catch him!"

"What—why? Shit!" she rasped back, but her husband was already gone. She cursed as she raced after, hating how fast the little bastard was. She didn't know why Ezio wanted to chase him down, but something was fishy. Why would a thief run from _them_? Why would he go to the _Colosseo_? What did he have to do with the _Villa_? Too many questions, and too many worries that the man would get away.

Then—he stumbled.

Ezio was on him instantly, crossing the remaining distance to yank the man's collar and wring him up in the air, "Why did you run?"

"I—," the man started to stutter, hands waving. Ezio caught sight of the paper in his fingers and snatched it away. Catherine didn't see the words, but she did see the red emblem and sign of the Borgia. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. The thief had a letter for the Borgia. He was where Micheletto had gone to. He ran from them-Assasins.

" _You_ are the traitor!" Ezio snarled, raising his Blade to the man's throat. "Talk, you fucking bastard!"

The thief's eyes were wild, flicking to the Blade. His mind worked quick, and a snarl appeared on his face as he grabbed Ezio's wrist.

"Long live the Borgia!" he howled and shoved the steel into his throat.

"Jesus!" Catherine gasped as her husband dropped the man. "What in the _fuck_?! What just happened?"

" _He_ was the traitor! Shit! He was at the _Villa_! I… God damn him! I told him where the secret passage went out! That's how the Borgia knew where to find us! This bastard led them right to us! He's the one who's been leaking all our plans!"

The redhead cursed again, "All this time… Fuck me, Micheletto was right all this time… how could we miss this? We… oh no. Wait… then… Ezio—Machiavelli! _La Volpe_ doesn't know yet. We have to get to him quick! He needs to see the letter!"

"We need to go now—go, go! Get to horses!" her husband barked, urging her onwards.

It was a mad dash, adrenaline surging through their veins as quickly as their heart could pump the blood. So much ran on making it to their friend in time, and they had no idea when _La Volpe_ would strike. They hoped it would not be too soon, but their comrade had been dead set on taking down the innocent man. They had a good guess of where he was, knowing Machiavelli remained near his home more with a wife and child, so that was where they aimed for. They were farther away than liked, though, having to traverse the countryside back into the city, crossing the bridge over the river, and winding their way through the streets while avoiding guards and people. All the while time wasn't on their side, and every passing second was another potential moment for _La Volpe_ to make a fatal mistake.

Her mind was so wrapped up in the what-ifs and worries, she barely registered they had reached the impressive _Villa_. Ezio pointed to a ledge where Machiavelli stood, admiring the city. They leapt from their mounts and rushed onwards at a sprint, refusing to let their chance slip by. Fear spiked, though, when they glimpsed the orange garb and the dark cloak of their ally. In his hand, a dagger glimmering silver in the moonlight. He prowled closer to Machiavelli, a predator surging in on his prey.

Catherine was certain it was only by some miracle that they reached _La Volpe_ , just moments before he would make his strike. He was, thankfully, far enough back they weren't noticed as Ezio grabbed _Volpe_ 's arm to stop him, and nearly threw the letter he'd taken into his face.

"Stop! We found the traitor!" he hissed, and the thief balked.

"What?!"

"One of our men, he was the _Villa_ attack. Here, take the letter he carried," her husband explained. Catherine glanced back as _Volpe_ took the parchment, reading over it quickly. Machiavelli had turned, no doubt having heard them, and was decidedly surprised to see them. She merely smiled and waved, praying he didn't notice how fast her heart was pounding. To think he had nearly been killed by their own—for a rumor!

"My God," the thief breathed, shaking his head.

"What is the matter, my friend?" the nobleman spoke up, coming up beside the group. Catherine had never seen the thief look sheepish or embarrassed in any way, but she supposed the lop-sided smile as he glanced down was sign enough.

"It seems our dear Mentors have discovered—and taken care of—a traitor in our midst. It is no wonder we faced many difficulties at first before we changed our system. But it seems we were not so thorough; the thief knew many locations and movements of our men."

"Then this is good news," Machiavelli smiled.

Ezio chuckled, doing a good job to hide his earlier worry, "More than you know."

"I am once again in your debt, my friends. Both of you."

"What debt is there amongst friends who trust one another?" the Assassin smiled back.

"Besides, we all have to help out one another, and we owe you just as much for all you've done for us," Catherine chuckled, earning one in kind.

"Well, you still have my thanks for relaying this message in time," _La Volpe_ replied, bowing his head before turning to the nobleman. "Come, Niccolò, it has been far too long since we have talked."

"Of course. The latest I have heard is that the _Colosseo_ Passion Play took an unexpected turn this evening," the man hummed as he walked with the thief, the latter's arm on his shoulder.

"Really?"

"It seems Jesus Christ was resurrected three days early," Machiavelli laughed.

Behind them, the two Assassins left behind visibly released a long breath of air. Catherine made a point to approach the nearby bench in the nobleman's courtyard and slumped down on it. Ezio joined her a moment later, groaning. She pat his thigh gently, letting her head fall against his shoulder. Relief flooded through her, leaving her feeling exhausted. She knew her husband was much the same even as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"I'm getting old," he grunted after a moment.

She laughed, "Yeah, me, too."

"Is it too soon to retire?"

"…Yeah, dammit, it is. Maybe in a few more years."

"Can we at least sleep until tomorrow evening?"

"I am _totally_ up for that," Catherine laughed, patting his leg again. "If we're lucky we can make it until the morning after."

"Oh, that's daring. We have young children after all. And we do have to break into the _Castel_ at some point."

"Well, we can try, right?"

"We can try," Ezio chuckled, and, with a grunt, stood up. He held out his hand for his wife, "Well, shall we head home, love?"

She looked at his hand for a moment before nodding and taking his head, "Yeah, let's go home."

* * *

 **29 –** _End_

* * *

 **TMWolf:** _And there we have it! Micheletto is dead! Now, in terms of the novel and outside-the-game scenes, this is a big deal. But if you don't know all that, then no worries. But he wasn't supposed to die here or any time soon, really, and not by the hands of an Assassin. He's killed by Cesare in Milan I think, but definitely not Rome xD But not this time! Catherine puts an end to it, and also to Volpe's suspicions. Had fun working some, uh, reality into this xD The game made it a little silly, but ah well._

 _Right. So._

 _One more target remains._

 _Won't be easy, though. That, I promise you._

 _P.S. Our poor Catzio are feeling the years xD_


	30. Greatest Change II

**TMWolf:** _Sorry for the lack of update! Life got pretty hectic but here's a nice ol' update :3 A bit of fun in the beginning, but then we get to that action at the end. Exciting changes coming along and then we get to the finale._

 _That's right._

 _Next chapter is the last-besides the epilogue. But yep. Things are almost done with. Crazy, huh? So, bear with me. This chapter isn't too long, but the finale is going to be a doozy._

 _For now, enjoy the fun._

* * *

 **30** – _Greatest Change II_

* * *

 **August 17, 1503**

 **Roma, Italy**

"You are looking well."

Catherine looked up from her desk, ever flooded with papers and maps and books, to regard her companion. It had been many years now that she'd known Niccolò Machiavelli, and it was only now that he seemed to finally be showing even the tiniest bit of his age. Granted, he wasn't yet forty—she mentally sent a bit of empathy for her husband, who hated he'd hit such a number—but he had begun to show a few wrinkles in his brow, and she swore she could see a bit of gray in his short hair. To be fair, he had a rather stressful life, courting the Borgia while being aligned with the Assassins. He kept them safe from the court's eyes, all while risking his own—and his family. His first—a daughter—wasn't even a year, and it seemed his wife was with child again already. She knew the pain, though, and yet not at all. He led a far different role than she did in the Order, and never wished to take his.

"You look _tired_ ," she chuckled, standing up to greet him with a warm clasp of their arms.

He chuckled, "It seems even my servants are stretched thin between the house and the needs of my wife—I have decided to take it upon myself to care for my little Primerana in their stead. It is… more _difficult_ than I realized. Certainly, you mothers are indominable creatures."

"How else do you think we stand you incorrigible men?" she snickered back, earning a laugh.

"Ah, that does indeed explain it. Are you sure you would not rather be a politician of the court than an Assassin of the Order? You would do well."

She waved him off with a laugh, "God, _no_. I have no taste for the courts. It's too pompous and back-stabbing. Okay, so being an Assassin means a lot of that, but it's _physical_. Politics involves too much deceit for my taste. I prefer to be honest. Bluntly so."

"As you have proven time and time again. Ah, but you are right. You are better suited as a Mentor of the Order. You and Ezio both had made it more than I could have ever hoped. You two are, perhaps, some of the best Assassins to come from our Brotherhood."

"Well, _Ezio_ is. I'm still not back in it—just the trainer and, uh, 'information master'. I'd say spymaster, but that's not right," she chuckled, motioning to her cluttered desk.

"Come now, you truly believe you were ever _not_ an Assassin?" he mused, almost wryly.

She raised a brow, "I did tell Ezio I couldn't be one—not until I'd proven myself again."

"Of course, and yet you did great work with the Banker, the French general, and Micheletto."

"Ezio needed my help—I told him he could ask if need be, since I have more experience than my students."

"So, you have said, but did you _truly_ think you were not one of us?" the man pressed, and this time there was a certain look to his eyes. She opened her mouth to retort but bit her lip for a moment.

"I was unworthy of it. I broke the tenants."

"Oh? And which of them did you break? Have you killed innocents? Have you exposed the Brotherhood? Did you bring harm?"

"Yes—I got my students hurt last year."

"Micheletto had already planned to destroy you, and it was a spy you and Ezio rooted out that threatened our Brotherhood. By all means, you broke no tenants. And there have plenty of great Assassins before you that broke all three and yet remain. Altair himself was such a man, and yet we revere him."

She wanted to reply, but bit her lip again instead, "…. Dammit. You're right. Can't I at least believe I was able to do so?"

"What good would that do, my friend?" he smiled, wryly this time.

"Touché. Okay, but now: what brings you here? You don't normally just visit, what with politics and your busy family life now."

"No, it is not just a visit, although I do miss the company of you and your family. I have come because it is time we truly made the Order complete."

"What do you mean?"

"Every Brotherhood has a Mentor—a leader."

She raised a brow, "Aren't Ezio and I already that?"

"In a way, yes—but not in the same sense. Truthfully, only the _leader_ of the Order should be called 'Mentor', but you were also their teacher, so it was not wrong to do so… but now we must have someone at the head—someone to not just teach and lead us, but also to represent us. To guide us—and those of us to come. Someone that any and all with look to when the time comes. Someone who has proven worthy above all others."

"Sounds almost like you have someone in mind already," the redhead chuckled, leaning back against the table.

"I do… but I felt it wise to council with you first."

"Ezio," she smiled, nodding. "He's been the leader since the beginning anyways."

"You have been as well."

She shook her head, "No, I've never been the _leader_. I was a teacher, but not a leader. I only taught them to survive, not how to become great. Ezio did that, and he helped make the Brotherhood in the first place. Because of _him_ , we're as strong as we are."

"Then we are in agreement—no offense to you, of course," the man hummed, but she waved off his concern.

"None taken. Although, I admit… I'm a bit surprised you think so highly of him. You always act a bit at odds."

"I suppose I do," he chuckled, pausing in his thoughts for a moment before he continued, "We did not part from _Monteriggioni_ on good terms, but I have always stood by him—and you of course. But it was I who brought him to _Roma_ when I found him on the road. It was I who caused the explosion as he _Castello_ to allow your Assassins to escape—"

"Wait, you caused that explosion? I heard vague mentions, but…"

He chuckled, "Yes, it was I, and it allowed time for all of us to get away. And the extra mercenaries at the _Colosseo_? They were my own, too. You both just… did not know it."

"You're quite the sneaky one, Niccolò. I guess you _are_ a politician after all. Not that I'm complaining. Don't suppose you'll have more tricks up your sleeve?"

"I might," he hummed nonchalantly.

Catherine smirked, "So… when will you make it happen?"

"I will bestow the rank upon him during Claudia's induction tonight."

"Ah, that's a perfect time. So, he doesn't know then?"

"No, I felt it best to keep it secret for now. I wished to seek your approval first."

"You didn't need to," Catherine chuckled, but Niccolò shook his head with a smile.

"No, it was necessary. It would have been an insult to you if I did not."

She smiled, "You are too kind, Niccolò. I am honored to call you my friend."

"As am I. Now, I shall interrupt you no longer," he chuckled, bowing his head respectfully before turning to go. He paused, though, to glance back, "Oh, and if you could perhaps let this conversation remain between us?"

Catherine blinked, surprised, then laughed, "Don't worry, I won't let him know you've saved his ass. And, of course, I won't mention his promotion. I do love surprising that big oaf."

"And I will keep _that_ between us as well," Niccolò hummed, his lip twitching upward, and the redhead laughed again.

 **-O-**

Catherine stood beside Ezio, watching as Niccolò Machiavelli spoke the words of their creed, addressing the crowd of Assassins—some full-fledged, others in training. She glanced up at her husband, saw his gaze was ahead at the young woman standing next to the nobleman. Claudia, adorned, not in a dress, but her own Assassin gear. A dark-red tunic etched with gold and mixed with a white-sleeved shirt beneath. Her hair was pulled back in a way the redhead had not seen before, and her usually ornaments were gone, replaced with her favorite dagger and a short cloak. It was like an entirely different woman, and Catherine thought it suited her. She looked so proud, too—though, not so much as her brother or her mother, who stood on the other side of Niccolò, both present and not. This was her daughter's moment, and a greater one for her family. The smile on her face—more wrinkled than Catherine remembered, and her hair a little more gray, yet still pristine—was bright and reached her tired, but still strong eyes. At her side, Federico and Giovanni grinned almost impishly, no doubt enjoying the sight of their mother so fierce and strong. Ottavio, Catherine imagined, would have grinned just the same, and been infinitely prouder of his wife.

The redhead looked to Claudia as Niccolò finished his words, the nobleman also turning his gaze upon the young woman. In the crowd, La Volpe and Bartolomeo stood with the others, and they, too, looked to the young woman.

"Claudia," Ezio began, meeting her eyes firmly, "We here dedicate our lives to protecting the freedom of humanity. Mario, our father, and brother once stood around this fire, fighting off the darkness. Now, I offer the choice to you. Join us."

He held out his hand, which she didn't hesitate to take. Her brother led her to the fire where a pair of tongs had been left to heat. The metal glowed now as Niccolò lifted it, reaching towards the hand Claudia had given. To her credit—Catherine beamed with pride—she only winced. Some of the men had cried out during this part, but she was strong. She always had been, and now the others could see it in full. She'd want ointment for the burn later, but she would wear it with pride. Catherine knew she herself did, although a glove covered her hand most of the time. The redhead grinned as she came up as Claudia moved back and nudged her gently. Her sister-in-law raised a brow, but then smiled right back.

"You and I have not seen eye-to-eye on many things," Niccolò's voice echoed, and the redhead looked over just in time to see the nobleman jabbed a finger at her husband. She held her grin back, having a good idea what was coming.

Ezio half-sighed, "Niccolò…"

"But you were exactly what the Order needed. You have led the charge against the Templars and both you and Catherine rebuilt this Brotherhood," he spoke up, pausing to turn and address the crowd. He gestured to the Assassin, "Now, we must put Ezio where he belongs: at the head of the Assassins."

"I second that," Catherine spoke up, stepping forward. She faced the crowd, "Are their any who would oppose?"

Silence was her answer, and she couldn't help her grin as she gave the floor back to the nobleman.

He stood proper, arms clasped behind his back, "Ezio Auditore da Firenze. You will now be known formally as _The Mentor_ , the guardian of our order and our secrets."

Niccolò bowed to his friend, bringing a small smile to the Assassin's face. He looked to his wife, whom smiled more wryly. A knowing look passed his face as he turned to face his comrades and fellow Assassins. It was both strange and yet _right_ to stand before them all as he was. He couldn't help chuckling at the thought of what his father might think, to see his son a leader.

"Where other men blindly follow the truth, remember..."

 _Nothing is true_ , their voices echoed as one.

"Where other men are limited by morality and law, remember…"

 _Everything is permitted._

It was done, and a round of cheer went up. Ezio chuckled, almost shyly—not that he knew the word—and Catherine felt only overwhelming pride as she came up beside him to take his hand. He turned towards her, grinning.

"Don't worry, you can still call me Ezio."

"Oh? Really? You're too kind," she snorted with a laugh. "But, really… congrats. You earned it. I'm proud of you, and proud to be by your side."

"As am I of you… and with you back to being a proper Assassin—Machiavelli told me—I don't doubt we can take on anything. Even Cesare."

"Damn straight. But for now… we need to celebrate Claudia's big day—after her Leap, of course," Catherine grinned, glancing over where Claudia was caught in the midst of her sons' arms, trapped in a fierce bear hug.

"Yes, this is a grand day to celebrate, and nothing is going to get into the way of it," Ezio chuckled, bringing his wife's hand up to plant a kiss. "Now, shall we?"

 **-O-**

 **August 18, 1503**

 **Roma, Italy**

"You're lucky we were prepared and had everyone gathered last night."

Ezio glanced at his wife, but only for the moment before returning his eyes to the courtyard below. They'd just finished scaling the ramparts to the main fortress walls, but their attention had been pulled back to the main gate when a man in red came billowing through, his horse going as fast as it could. They knew the man anywhere, and so kept a close eye as he shoved his way past his guards through the main gate.

Cesare Borgia.

As their thief informant had told them last night—right before celebrations, too—the Borgia was on his way back to _Roma_. He came alone, for some reason, but they had a good idea as to why he'd made the journey. They'd taken away his money, destroyed his French allies, and silenced his dog. He had lost a good chunk of power, and now he had to come back to try and scavenge more. Whatever the case, it was the perfect opportunity for the two Assassins to take him out.

They thankfully had time to rest their bodies before the sun rose, lest Catherine was sure she might be yawning right about now. Any celebration was cut short with promise to continue another night as they began to make quick plans: Catherine and Ezio would infiltrate the walls by themselves, thankfully less guarded and secured than before thanks to the lack of funds. Outside, their Assassins would be at the ready to come flying in to help in case it was needed. Courtesans and mercenaries were in the know-how, and thieves were couriering messages between everyone. It would probably be their only shot in a long while to kill the bastard, so they were keen to take it.

"Hmm looks like he's heading for the top of the _Castel_. Thankfully, we don't need to climb this time—the keys the actor gave us will let us in through the side door," Ezio hummed, scanning around the corner for guards.

"Good, that climb was awful the first time. Let's hurry then—we don't know how long we'll have. We have to take down Cesare now," Catherine replied, touching her husband's arm. He only nodded and motioned her forward.

More guards awaited them on their new path, but it involved far less climbing, which was a relief. Luck was on their side, though; the loss of funds had left the fortress not nearly as heavily guarded as before. Cesare possibly pulled some away to the war effort as well, making their journey to the door much easier than she expected. It was almost unprecedented they weren't waylaid greatly in some way or attacked the moment they opened the towering, wooden door.

It was then Catherine understood why—they had a far more rigorous climb _within_ the _Castel_. The doors, unfortunately, led to what made her think of a basement and had plenty of weapons and other items set into storage. None of the doors in the room were open, locked tight. Indeed, the only way to go anywhere was up.

"God, I hate our job sometimes," the redhead sighed, prepping herself for scaling the walls. They both paused, though, when an echo reached their ears—that of a voice. A feminine one.

"I do not understand. I ordered a fresh batch of _la cantarella_ last night."

Another one, male, spoke up, "I am terribly sorry, My Lady, but the Pope has taken it."

"Let's hurry," Ezio rumbled, taking a running start. Catherine soon followed, but kept her ears focused on the voices as they continued.

"Where is the Pope?"

"He meets with Cesare."

"Strange. He did not tell me Cesare had returned," the woman—Lucrezia, Catherine realized, hummed, and then she was not heard again. It was only the soldier complaining.

Interesting.

 _Very_ interesting.

So many questions now. _Cantarella_ was a poison as far as the redhead knew, and the Pope—Rodrigo—had taken it? He was meeting with Cesare, too, and had told no one. What was going on?

There was no time to ponder as they hoisted up to the floor above and had to contend with the soldiers there. It wasn't too terribly difficult to surprise them with Blades to their throats and chests, and from there their path continued, ascending up to upper levels. Catherine vaguely recalled where to go, but her husband's memory proved better, having scoured it thoroughly over his two infiltrations. It wasn't easy, of course, and many locked doors stood in their way. Ultimately, they had to breach the courtyard that Catherine had nearly killed Lucrezia to find any sort of passage above. It was there that they heard her voice yet again—and Cesare's.

"Give me the Apple! It is mine, not yours!" he bellowed, almost like a beast. His sister let out a shriek as she began to sob. Pleas and cries of pain came from her, her brother doing something seemingly terrible. Despite her hate for the woman, Catherine felt a pang of sympathy—and worry. Cesare had to be mad.

"Alright—I will tell you! Please stop, Cesare!" she yelped, and it became quiet.

"Smart decision, little sister."

Catherine looked to her husband, "Hurry."

They scaled the walls as quick as they could, making a beeline for the only open window where the voices had come from. It had gone dangerously quiet in the room, and as they hoisted themselves over, the reason became quite clear: Cesare was gone, Rodrigo Borgia was dead, and Lucrezia had collapsed against the wall, a sobbing mess with bruises already forming around her throat.

Catherine hated her. She did. But even she felt pity at the sight of the woman. She'd truly loved her brother, regardless of how vile a love it was, and he had hurt her in all ways. He did not love her, just as she had burned into the woman's mind all those years ago. Worse still, her father was dead. Oh, he no doubt only used her as a tool, but he had been family, and now he, too, was lost to her. She was alone.

"Rest in peace," Ezio spoke softly, kneeling beside the Pope. He closed the man's eyes gently, giving a kind of respect many might not expect of him. In some ways, Catherine almost didn't and a part of herself still hated him, too, but she remembered he had pitied her during her imprisonment. He was not the same man they'd fought, even if it was only because he was too tired. Too old. Still, the hatred felt deflated in the face of his death, brought on by his own blood. In a way, it was fitting. Evil beget evil, and he reaped what he had sown.

So why was it this "victory" felt so hollow?

"Are you alright?" she finally spoke, looking to Lucrezia, whom regarded her sharply. Shock was there, in her eyes, but so much more was pain.

"Do not _patronize_ me. Do not _dare_. I don't want your fucking pity! Besides, I know you only came for Cesare…," she rasped and coughed, tears pooling into her eyes before her expression became dark—vindictive. "I know where that bastard is going. _San Pietro_ … the pavilion in the courtyard."

"Thank-you," her husband spoked gently and moved towards the open doors. Catherine turned to follow, but paused and looked back to the blonde-haired woman. With the wolf gone, it was hard to see her as she once had. The woman before her was a pitiful creature, used and abused and thrown aside. That was not a fate for someone like her, even if she could be cruel. She was no killer, though. Just a spoiled child who had been taught and made to believe she would be always great.

"For what it's worth, Lucrezia? I hope you do find someone who loves you one day," she spoke softly and walked towards her husband. She paused again, though, recalling something. It might be a mistake, but she let the words come anyways, "And… Giovanni is safe—and doing very well. He'll become a strong, good man."

Catherine ignored the "what" that came from Lucrezia and gave her no time to reply as she reached her husband, and they went off at a dead sprint. Their way was clear, and the open door let them go by another much faster way. They leapt down stairs, skirted around corners, and shot straight for the gate towards the exit. They'd be outside in moments then.

At least, until Cesare collided into Ezio. The two went tumbling, though they managed to keep on their feet. Catherine reacted on instinct, lunging at the Borgia with an activated Blade. He was a well-trained warrior, though, and reacted in time to grab her arm and throw her aside. She hit the ground in a roll but managed to get to her feet. Neither she or Ezio could move quick enough, though, and Cesare slammed the gate shut—and locked it—behind him.

"I will come for you two later," he sneered and ran off.

"Fuck!" Ezio snarled while Catherine spun this way and that. There was another door, leading towards what she hoped was the outside. It was, of course, locked.

"Ezio—help me break it down!" she called, backing up for a running start. He touched her back to let her know he was ready, and they charged. The door bellowed and cracked at their strike but did not burst. More curses flew, but they readied again. Once more, the door groaned under the blow, but remained in place. It was weakening, though, so they did not surrender, and with one, final charge—they burst through, rolling across the cobbled floor. Their effort set them in the same room they'd been in two years ago in their rescue attempt before they escaped, and the tall, slightly opened door to the left was the way out.

" _Go!_ Through the stable! We'll get a horse!" Ezio bellowed, helping her up and making a run for it. Thankfully, the gate was open unlike their previous venture, and they were able to skirt right through. Only a single horse was there—the same Cesare rode—and two guards were in their way. The two gasped in surprise, and in their rush, Catherine only thought to punch the one on her right in the nose, sending him sprawling, while Ezio slammed his shoulder into the one in the left. The guards out of the way, he leapt onto the horse, grasped the redhead's outstretched arm to hoist her up, and forced the stallion into a hard gallop.

"Hold fast!" she heard his shout above the sound of hooves slapping against cobble stones, and the surprised shouts or yelps of denizens—and soldiers—as they flew by. The city was a blur as her husband rode the beast hard through the streets. Where Cesare was, she couldn't say. She just prayed they would make it in time, and only hated how every second _they_ weren't already there was one in which their enemy could have the Piece of Eden; could wield the powerful, terrible weapon against them.

It took too long. It felt too long, she couldn't help thinking. She recognized where they were after each turn, but it never felt close enough—even though the pavilion was only moments away. They had managed to somehow evade the guards, though she could hear them behind her. A glance above revealed Assassins racing across rooftops to help, taking out enemies where they could. She liked to imagine mercenaries were out there, too, but there was no time to give it more than a fleeting moment.

"Ho!" Ezio rasped, pulling the stallion to a short stop as he came to the stairs leading to the courtyard. Catherine had never been here before, but she knew this was the place, if only because Ezio leaped from the horse's back to shoot up the stairs and through the open door. By some miracle, no one was in the courtyard. It was empty. They'd made it.

"Where is it?" she panted, looking for any place the artifact might be.

Ezio pointed to the golden, scaled egg in the center, surrounded by pillars, "There. Hurry."

 _His Sense_ , she realized, hot on his heels. Sure enough, when he approached the "egg" he knew right where to place his hand. The structure _opened_ of all things, revealing the golden sphere. For a moment, Catherine tensed. The last time she'd touched it, it had burned her—brought her such agony. She shook the memory back. This was different. This wasn't like before. It was fine. Hell, Ezio had already taken it, and while it glowed in his hand, nothing came of it. He'd not been hurt before, too, so it was fine.

"You?!" a voice rasped, and the two spun around to find Cesare, flanked by two Papal Guards.

Ezio held up the Apple, "Looking for this?"

"It ends now, Assassins! My sword will take your life!" Cesare growled, brandishing his blade. Catherine drew hers, ready to snarl back, but it was cut short when the Borgia suddenly lurched over, grasping his stomach, and retching. He rasped in pain and stepped back, "Guards!"

"Stay behind me, Catherine," her husband growled. She felt the power in the Apple swell as she did so, and then it exploded in a flurry of golden light tendrils that engulfed the pavilion around them. The beams focused on the two guards, who lurched and then suddenly attacked, sticking their blades into each other's gut. Cesare stared, wide-eyed, and retreated as quickly as his feeble body could take him.

" _Guards! GUARDS!_ " he wailed, and the chorus of boots was his answer.

"Come on—we can get him!" Catherine growled, charging forward, but Ezio caught her arm.

He shook his head, "No, there's too many, and more are coming after our race here. We need to go. We'll get him later—for now, we need to get the Apple away from here."

"But—no," she half-sighed, "you're right. You sure you're okay to use it?"

He nodded, "Yes, I seem to not be harmed. Are you alright?"

"Yes, nothing happened," she replied quickly, knowing their time was short. "Alright, let's go—our Assassins will back us up."

No more was said. The two took off at a run yet again. This time, though, guards blocked their path, swords drawn. Again, Ezio drew upon the Apple, which engulfed the world in power and put the Borgia guards against one another. An insanity came over them, and they struck one another down without hesitation. It was brutal, cruel even, but they had no choice. Still, she saw the grimace on her husband's face, and touched his arm gently to reassure him, even a little. He only glanced her way before pushing through their line of bodies.

The district was in chaos, guards not sure who was attacking or where from. Denizens and innocents ran away screaming, and the alarm had been raised. On high, her Assassins leaped from roof to roof, taking out soldiers on the ground and archers in their way. It gave the clearance the two Master Assassins needed to flee through the streets, the Apple no longer needed. It was still a hard run, dodging the enemy and sprinting around sharp corners. To their relief, they found more horses, these ones abandoned by their owners or their riders killed. They hoisted up, Catherine gave two short whistles and one long—signaling the retreat—and they spurred the horses into a gallop to crest the bridge and make the final stretch back to the island.

It seemed to take forever, but it was only perhaps minutes before they had reached the safety of the door leading down into the sanctuary. No one had been able to follow, and so they did not need to worry as they entered through the door and descended the stairs to the main room. They were not alone, though; all their allies—Claudia, Bartolomeo, La Volpe, Machiavelli, Maria, and her nephews were all there. They looked worried at first, but when they finally saw the two, they visibly relaxed—for a moment.

"Rodrigo Borgia is dead," Ezio spoke first, and a wave of relief came over the group.

"Cesare escaped—but he's poisoned. There were too many guards for us to get to him," Catherine added with a shake of her head. "He's greatly weakened, though."

Machiavelli frowned slightly, "We must not allow him to assemble his remaining supporters. The coming weeks are going to be critical."

"With your aid, we will hunt him down—us and our Assassins," The Mentor replied.

Bartolomeo motioned with his hand, "My men will patrol the city, but we might need an army."

"We have one," Ezio smirked, revealing the Apple he'd hidden safely within his vest. A round of surprise swept through.

La Volpe laughed, "You have it!"

"Yes, we beat that bastard to it… and it's powerful. We can use it to take any number of soldiers he throws at us on," Catherine grinned, setting her hands on her hips.

Giovanni frowned, "Won't it sap his strength?"

"It has not affected me."

"But it might with too much use, my son. We cannot rely on it alone—you know the dangers of these things," Maria spoke up, touching her son's arm so that he lowered it. He frowned for a moment, but nodded.

"Still," Federico shrugged, "it's a boon we can't ignore."

"Actually, we _should_ use it more—for now. We need to show Cesare it is truly ours to control. It will serve as an insult, and inspire fear into both him and his men," Claudia hummed.

Bartolomeo bellowed with laughter, "I like the way you think, my Lady."

"It is sound strategy, though I agree; we must tread carefully. We already know of the destructive nature of the artefacts. We have not forgotten the near loss of our Lady Auditore," Niccolò added, motioning to Catherine, who grimaced at the memory.

Ezio took his wife's hand, not wishing to remember, "I won't soon forget. I will be careful, but first we must find him again. It is time we fully rid _Roma_ of his presence."

"Finally. It's time," the redhead breathed, all eyes turning to her. "No matter how much he runs… no matter where he hides… Even if we have to chase him to the ends of the Earth… Cesare Borgia will meet his end by our hands. No matter how long it takes."

A chorus of agreement rang through the room, and they disbanded. There was no more to be said. It was time to prepare for the end.

At long last, the fall of Cesare Borgia had truly begun.

* * *

 **30** – _End_

* * *

 **TMWolf:** _So, Cesare isn't dead just yet. But he's definitely going to be._

 _So the game loves to skip a LOT. But there's plenty to get through next chapter so, uh, get ready. There's lots of action, sadness, pain, and triumph. Hoo boy. Y'all in for a ride._

 _Until next chapter ;)_


	31. Protectors of the Earth

**TMWolf:** _So. Here it is._

 _The finale._

 _Not gonna say much. I probably could have split the chapter up, but... it was one final, mad dash to the end pretty much even in the game, so I'm keeping it as is._

 _Song is from Two Steps From Hell - Protectors of the Earth_

 _Enjoy._

 _P.S. Forgive my errors this was 25 pages long ;A;_

* * *

 **31** – _Protectors of the Earth_

* * *

 **August 25, 1503**

 **Roma, Italy**

The start came both sooner and later than they expected.

Whatever had happened in the room in the _Castelo_ that night a week ago, Cesare had become gravely ill. Poisoned, according to the rumors their Thieves had found. Recalling the conversation they'd heard in the lower floors, it was believed to be Cantarella, or at least called that, and it had made the man bedridden. He'd been too heavily guarded and secreted to a place they couldn't find, so they'd bided their time. Bartolomeo stationed men on the streets at all times; Claudia made sure her girls siphoned any whispers they could from their clients; _La Volpe_ ensured his thieves heard and saw everything before silently returning to the fox den. As such, they understood, even sick, the Borgia bastard was doing all he could to gather men, coin, and the Church to his side. He he was also looking for them—the Assassins. He wanted the Apple back, but they were masters at keeping hidden. So, try as he might, his men had no luck, and soon the "master" would have to do the work himself.

It was during such a time they found him. He had popped his head out at the _Campidoglio_ , surrounding himself with guards of all ranks and skills. His little armada allowed him to escape even when Ezio and Catherine had brought a group of Assassins with them, but they had made their blow. Many of the guard were slain and those that lived saw the power the Assassins had. Their enemy would find it more difficult to get people to fight beside him—or that was the hope. After all, even being so ill the man had proven dangerous in this time.

Yet, they did not fear it.

Or rather, they did not worry as much as they had before. It was because of the Apple, of course, and even their trainees felt more confident with the artifact in their hands. The power of it was undeniable after their bout with the Borgia, but so was the danger, although that was kept between the faction leaders and The Mentor. As such, Ezio did well to keep it safely on his person whenever awake, and kept well-hidden when asleep—that, or in the safe hands of a trusted person. In the meantime, they readied themselves.

Catherine doubled the training, doubled the watch, and called any Assassins she could back. The final phase of their War was upon them, and they would need all the help they could get. She lamented none of her Master ranks sent elsewhere could return, but they had their own hands full. Already there was work being done in England under Alessandra and Jacopo's watchful eyes. King Richard had allied with their Order, and there was need of them there. Germany had good ties, and France was slowly being worked on. Even India was allied with the Order, although they contended with Templars everywhere. However, she was at least content to know their forces could prevent possible foreign aid to the Borgia. It would do its part, and so she sent only her thanks, wishes of luck, and orders to continue their damned good work.

So that left her forces in _Roma_ , which would be enough. It had to be, and so she would make sure they were all as prepared as possible. She wouldn't have time to gather more recruits—nor would her husband—so she had to ensure even those wet behind the years might survive any conflict. She let herself doubt it would come to that, but she always prepared for the worst.

As it turned out, she was glad she did when the first attacks came.

To her—and Ezio's—surprise, it was not by Borgia guards or Cesare himself, but rather denizens. Nobles some, lower class others. She had not thought the Borgia would have any supporters after everything that happened, but radicals had begun to sprout up in the city. Catherine suspected it was due to the murder of the Pope—of Rodrigo. His passing had come as a great shock and tragedy to many, and soon there would be motions set in order to elect his replacement. No doubt Cesare would be working to alter it into his favor, and while the majority of the populace were against him now, pockets of supporters sprang up. They were violent and unexpected, but ultimately handled with only a few casualties. It only added to all the chaos, though, and worry began to take hold, although, only for the unknown of what the riots could stir.

"It won't do you good to worry yourself over things," Ezio spoke up, tearing Catherine from her thoughts. He had touched her back gently, warm against her cooler skin. She looked over her shoulder at him, lying prone beside her. His chest was bare—as was the rest of him under the sheets just like herself—and he looked quite handsome in the candlelight. He smiled gently, his scar moving upwards with his lip.

"You know I can't _not_. Yes, we have the advantage and it's mostly these nobles who have been ousted from positions of power so they're _pissed_ , but good people were hurt—and one was killed. We need to figure out how to stop them, but we need to find Cesare for that, and he's too well hidden and won't show his damn face," she huffed, throwing up an arm in frustration.

Ezio hummed, wrapping his arm around her waist to pull her down next to him, "All important things to worry over, but this is war. We knew chaos would happen, even if we didn't say it. Even the Papacy is in turmoil and now we must play our role and be ready whenever the coward shows himself."

"I wish we could just go and find him, but— _blah_. Okay. Right. No use worrying. Think of the positives… Alright… Diana is… doing _very_ good in her training and she's only eleven. Mario is speaking better every day at only three, so I know he's going to be very smart. We'll need to think about getting him a tutor soon. I think. Giovanni is doing good as well and fitting in better than I expected. Even Claudia and Maria seem to like him, despite his lineage."

"Mother enjoys another 'grandson' to dote on—even if he's not blood" Ezio chuckled, thumb gently rubbing along her skin, tracing a scar. "And they both know he's innocent. Just a boy, born to a terribly family. He's doing well in his training, too. I think it's sweet how Diana dotes on him. She has a good heart."

"Claudia's going to be furious when she refuses to start courting and being a 'proper' lady," Catherine chuckled, earning one from her husband. She grew quiet, breathing in slowly for a few moments. Her voice was soft as she went on, "We won't have many talks like this for a while… will we?"

He didn't answer at first, "No, I don't think so. Cesare is going to fight hard. We may fight here, we may fight elsewhere. But we'll win it. And then…"

"Then?" she asked, looking to him.

"Then… I don't know. I hadn't thought about it yet, but… we'll think of something. At the very least, we still have lots of Assassins—our children included—to train."

"Mmm maybe we can actually have our own house instead of this place. Don't get me wrong—it's great… but I would mind having some place like the _Villa_ back. I miss our old home."

"…Me, too," Ezio chuckled softly, pulling her a bit closer. He thought for a moment, eyes falling, "Perhaps… when this is done… we could go back—to see what's become of it."

Catherine turned to face him fully, hand reaching up to cup his face, "I'd like that. Hopefully it won't take too long."

Her husband smiled gently, "Yes…. Hopefully, we can end this war soon."

 **-O-**

 **September 10, 1503**

 **Roma, Italy**

"Is Ezio back yet?" Claudia spoke up as she descended the stairs of the entryway into the Assassin sanctuary, pushing her hood back to reveal her face. She wore her newly established Assassin garbs as opposed to her Madame robes, and Catherine again thought they suited her very well.

"Not yet. But don't worry—I sent a group of Assassins with him as back up," the redhead replied, gaze moving back down to the map on her desk, spread about between La Volpe and Machiavelli on either side of the desk. It was a sketch of Roma and all on it were various marks and symbols to represent their troops, allies, and enemies. The red of the Borgia was decidedly less than the white of their Order, but the former was by no means so easily quashed. Another Borgia-loyalist had started trouble, but had thankfully been taken care of quickly enough. Still, that made the third this month, and they hadn't been able to kill the others. It wasn't too serious, but Catherine didn't dare let herself get complacent.

She noted one person missing, "I thought Maria was joining us this time?"

"She was… tired tonight. She has been working hard to ensure the girls' safety. I believe it is finally just wearing her down. She will see us next time. So. What other news do you have?" her sister-in-law inquired, coming to stand on the remaining free side.

The nobleman gestured, "I am still working to find the noble loyalists in the court, but it seems they have grown wise to the situation. Those who side with the Borgia had deemed it more likely they will survive this… 'shift' in power if they remain quiet. My associate Bruno is working to root them out, though. He is _very_ thorough in his work."

"My spies are working hard as well to find those in the countryside, but there is little to find. It seems our efforts to _dissuade_ sympathy for the Borgia has been working," La Volpe smiled with a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, it does help that Cesare lost his Papal support," Catherine smirked in kind. When Claudia raised a brow, she went on, "Pope Pius III's death was quite convenient."

"Ah. Clever move."

"Indeed, it was, and I have heard rumor their next choice may not be so _inclined_ to support Cesare. I cannot confirm, but there is less Borgia coin running through their coffers these days," Niccolò chuckled, earning a light laugh from his fox-like companion.

"What of this 'army' of Cesare's we have heard rumor of?" Claudia pressed.

Catherine shrugged, "I'm not sure. It's just gossip at most right now, although Cesare seems sure. Micheletto and the Baron were his main army components, but both are dead, so I'm not sure who is leading this 'army' of his. I suppose some loyalists from his troops in the countryside might have broken off from the main force that's returning, but I can't be sure. I don't like it, but all we can do is prepare for it and keep stripping away at Cesare's power."

"I will press harder for answers where I can," Machiavelli offered, earning a nod.

Her sister sighed, "I am unsure if my girls can glean anything from the nobles, but I will try. Mother has not heard anything from her own 'older' associates, either. Her little 'club' has been useful, though, I must say. We only learned how to lure the Cardinal in to find out about the meeting tonight because of it."

"Ah, even tired, your mother is a wily creature still," La Volpe snickering, though stifled it when he received a reproving glare from the younger Auditore. "I only mean to compliment, I assure you. But, I digress… my thieves will keep their ears open, but otherwise I can merely keep an eye on the horizon for an army."

"Don't worry, we're prepared. We'll be ready for it," the redhead grinned, leaning forward to set her hands on the table. She gazed over at the map, knowing full well they had the advantage. Cesare was strong, yes, but he was getting weaker. He was still recovering from his poisoning, which made him weak in front of his men. He had none of this Generals to help him, and now the Papacy was turning against him. Once Ezio returned, it would cement that blow, and they could move on to their next step.

The door to the Sanctuary open and closed, and all eyes turned. As the redhead expected, her husband appeared a few moments later. He had sweat on his brow, despite the cool air, and she see his weariness. He'd used the Apple. By some miracle, he didn't suffer the terrible effects she had with her Clock or when she combined with the Apple, but it was a taxing endeavor to use it. He carried himself strongly, though, and approached them with a victorious smile on his face.

"It is done. Cesare escaped me, but the damage I inflicted on his guards and any potential allies was more important. I also learned the Cardinals will side with Della Rovere and elect him Pope. Cesare is no longer in control of the Papacy."

"Ah, excellent. We were _just_ speaking of such matters, actually," the thief leader snickered, earning a grin in kind.

Catherine rubbed Ezio's back gently, "We're one step closer. All we should have left to worry about is this 'army' he keeps hoping is coming."

"If he thinks he can win, he truly is deluded," Claudia snorted, head lifted high. Her brother chuckled, clasping her shoulder.

"Indeed, Sister. He is losing his sense in his panic. He holds on to his false hope, but it is slowly fading. We will break him very soon."

"Good. We are with you all the way, Ezio," Niccolò nodded, and La Volpe did the same.

"Now that's settled… time for you to get some rest. I suggest we all do and report back once we have something substantial," Catherine grinned, giving the signal for the meeting to adjourn. Farewells were given and the three leaders left to return to their respective domains. Bartolomeo was the only one already there, having remained at the Barracks with his wife and men to see to the countryside as opposed to the meeting. With them gone, the Sanctuary grew quiet save for the echoes of weapons clanging from the training rooms down below. Catherine ignored them, though, as she took Ezio's hand in hers so as to bring it to her lips to kiss gently. "You used it too much."

He smiled tiredly, "A bit, but it was worth it. I just need rest and some good food."

"Still, I worry. I wish you'd let me carry the burden with you."

"No!" he growled sharply, though she did not wince. Rather, she smiled gently, and he sighed. "I don't dare let you be hurt by it again. Besides, you bore the burden all on your own for _years_. I can carry it some now. And worry not; I don't feel terrible pain, and my strength returns moments later."

"You know that just means I'm going to worry _more_ , right?" she huffed, folding her arms. He laughed lightly, pulling her to him and kissing her brow.

"I know, and it makes my heart soar knowing I have you here watching over me. Now, come. No more worry. I need your breasts to rest my head on," he snickered, earning a smack on his thigh. "Ow! What? You love it! Especially when I play with them."

"Don't you pillow talk me here. Save it for the bedroom, now hush, and get going up to the bed."

A mischievous twinkle came into his eyes, "Yes, my dear kitty-'Cat."

Catherine only rolled her eyes as she smiled, and even as they ascended the stairs to their room, the twinkle never faded.

 **-O-**

 **December 15, 1504**

 **Roma, Italy**

Cesare wisely waited a great deal longer before he emerged again. It was for good reason, though.

Despite the lack of Papal, foreign, and his generals' support, the Borgia bastard had managed to rally loyalists, from nobles to regular citizens, to his side. Despite all their efforts, the loyalists had emerged and were causing trouble—enough so that it felt like the city was at war all over again, only this time, it wasn't kept to the shadows. Riots sprung up, some with the guards on their side, and others with the guards trying to quell the chaos. Fires sprung up, structures and buildings were damaged, and people were hurt. The Assassins did what they could to help without exposing themselves while Bartolomeo was quick to make his mercenaries known to help keep the peace. In the meantime, Catherine and Ezio had worked hard with La Volpe and Niccolò to find out those working for their enemy. That, of course, proved to be as difficult as finding their quarry. Worse still, Cesare had not been as deluded as Ezio believed.

Only perhaps a month after the encounter with the Cardinals, word came of loyalists trying to amass an army outside the city. It was alarming, to be sure, but the Assassins were quick to work to undo it. Spies told them what they needed to know, and with the new Pope on their side—to an extent, of course; he, at the very least, had the same goal—they were able to warn the Papacy of Cesare's plans. The Pope set his own machinations into order, leaving it out of the Assassin's hands, but Bartolomeo's cousin—Fabio Orsini, now working for the Pope after having been an outlaw under Rodrigo's reign—assured them, it would be alright and to have faith.

Catherine found it hard to do so as she paced inside the sanctuary of _Isola Tiberina_ , awaiting the arrival of their comrades. She and Ezio had traveled to Bartolomeo's Barracks just hours ago, having been nearby and accosted by a mercenary saying their comrade had a message. It was, unfortunately, not good news—but also not _bad_ news. Or rather, Cesare had been spotted by the north gate of _Roma_ , which meant it was a chance to strike him yet again. He had been seen with best guards, and it was believed he was waiting for something.

It didn't take much to figure out what. Had Fabio failed then? Had their warning not been quick enough? Had Cesare succeeded in obtaining an army to come and reclaim _Roma_? It was not unfounded that he had other foreign allies to draw upon, despite her assurance from her fellow Assassins abroad their leaders held no great interest or would not stick out their necks to help him. If enough loyalists were out there and noble they could pose a threat. As such, she couldn't help worrying as the seconds became minutes. It felt like too long for everyone to come together, and she wondered if the Assassins waiting with her also felt anxious—or was it just her?

"It will be fine," her husband whispered into her ear, coming up beside her with his hand on her lower back. She paused in her movement but folded her arms over her chest. She glanced behind them, noting Bartolomeo polishing his sword and his men doing the same for their weapons, and her Assassins checking and double-checking their gear. They were only bringing a small contingent of men—and women—from their group. They needed to move fast and with all their factions fighting as one, even small numbers from each would make an impact. The idea was to stop Cesare before his "supposed" army came.

"Sorry. I'm… nervous," she frowned, closing her eyes to breathe in deeply.

He chuckled, "Me, too… but we're ready. We have our best Assassins with us, Bartolomeo his best, Our nephew is with us, and the children are safe with mother up above. And to add to that, more Assassins guard them and will be waiting for our call in the city. Claudia will join us soon, along with Machiavelli and _La Volpe_ 's thieves. Cesare cannot beat us."

She sighed, "You're right. I'm thinking too much."

"Always useful—when called for," Bartolomeo chuckled, coming to their side, "but your husband is right. Have faith, my dear Lady. My cousin will come through. He is of my blood, and we never fail."

" _Really_ ," the redhead mused, earning a sharp huff and glare that only lasted for a moment.

"That is not the point. Fabio will come through."

"See? Nothing to worry. Rather, think of how good we might sleep once Cesare is defeated," Ezio snickered, kissing her brow. She managed to laugh and let her shoulders slack at last. She could afford a bit of respite before the conflict, no? Or, at the very least a little while; it wasn't long—perhaps thirty minutes—when a thief arrived.

It was time.

All their allies were on the move, and now it was time for the factions to converge.

The walk felt too long and too short. The air was bitter cold and their breath came out in visible puffs. It was, perhaps, the coldest day of the year, and with the clouds blotting out the sun, it would make the battle ahead more difficult. It as nothing they could not master, though, and so they marched onwards. The cold still tried to sap their strength, and Catherine's worries nipped her heels the whole way—at least, until she saw the first of her allies. Claudia came into view, her dagger in one hand and a blade in the other, and beside her was Machiavelli who wielded a similar weapon. Soldiers followed him, his own mercenary guard. _La Volpe_ emerged next, a small group of thieves in tow, daggers and throwing knives tossing and spinning through the air. Their groups combined, Ezio and Catherine at the head.

The redhead drew her blade as they continued onwards. Ezio pulled the Apple from his tunic, and already it pulsed with energy; as if anticipating the coming battle. Catherine didn't know what to make of it, but she only hoped it would not draw upon her husband's strength for too long. Although, she supposed that meant it was up to her and all the others to make it so.

She inhaled deeply as they came into the wide courtyard, buildings all around save for the small enclave on the right where a hanging platform had been places for all to see those who had been taken to the rope. It was, in some ways, a fitting ground to fight their last battle against Cesare, who stood before his heavily armed men at the opened north gate. He bellowed to them, promising of ruling _Italia_ ; of great glory and power and riches.

All lies, spouted from the mouth of a cornered beast. It was a shame the men on his side were sheep, unable to see they had followed the wrong shepherd.

Cesare turned and sneered at them, "Come to watch my triumph? Soon my loyal allies and their armies will arrive. But you shall be dead before then."

He motioned and his guards drew their blades. At least thirty in total—enough to match their own.

Ezio raised the Apple in his arm, "Together, for victory!"

"Victory to the Assassins!" came their united cry, weapons raised.

The echoes were lost to the clash of blades, the howls of battle cries, and the screams of death and pain. Blood splattered and pooled onto the cobblestones of the streets. Metal struck metal, then flesh, then metal, and flesh again. Bones cracked and broke. Steel shattered. Assassins and their allies fell, and Borgia dogs came with them. In the midst of it all, ancient, powerful energy flooded through the mingle of bodies like a flood. It filled their allies, while their enemies faltered and paused or screamed in some unseen agony. A sharp edge silenced their cries a moment later, although they became less and less with each passing moment. Another second, another dark-armored brute bearing the Borgia crest fell. Then another, and another, and another.

Catherine snarled as she shoved her Hidden Blade into her opponent's throat. He staggered back, clutching at his neck as he gurgled incoherently, and fell. He died in moments, but she had turned her attention elsewhere by then. By her count, at least twenty-five Assassins remained, leaving their dead at about five. She could tell most were thieves, but a few mercenaries had fallen. None of their leaders were dead, though, and for that she was relieved. The Borgia that remained were falling back, suddenly unsure of their stance—especially when Ezio slowly walked towards them, the Apple thrumming with its intense power in his hands. They could not hope to win. This battle was over.

They had won.

Now where was Cesare?

She looked, but of those not dead she only saw civilians around them, huddled into safe hovels. The remaining guards had surrender and crouched down, weapons cast aside, which surprised her. Why had they not returned to their master instead?

"Shit—that fucking coward shut the gate on us!" Bartolomeo snarled, slamming his Bianca into the prone body of a Borgia guard not quite dead yet. The guard didn't stir again. Catherine swung her eyes to the north gate, and, sure enough, it had been shut, and just beyond it was Cesare. He had the touch of worry on his brow, but not enough for a man who had lost. Indeed, as she came closer with the others she saw not fear, but confidence. A smirk. He had lost, though.

"Throw down your arms, Cesare Borgia!" Ezio barked, jabbing a finger with his free hand. The man laughed of all things and stepped aside to motion in the distance: Men, set into troop formations marched. At their head, three on horseback that were riding fast towards them. Catherine's gut twisted. An army—but theirs, or _his_?

"My new army masses behind me. We will take back _my_ city once and for all!" the Borgia howled with almost palpable glee. The men on horse came closer, and just as the worry in her stomach threatened to make her nauseous, she recognized the figure. Yes—yes, she knew that face! It had only been a brief meeting, but she knew him.

Fabio Orsini.

She almost laughed. Almost.

"This city isn't yours anymore, Cesare… and it never will be," she told him instead, her own smirk forming. He frowned, a retort ready on his lips, but it wavered as he turned and saw a man he did not know—or was at least no ally of his.

Fabio dismounted with his men and jabbed a finger at their enemy, "By order of Pope Julius II, I arrest you, Cesare Borgia, for the crime of murder, betrayal, and incest."

" _No_!" he shrieked, panic overcoming him. He tried to back away as Fabio's men came for him, grabbing hold of his arms. "No! No! No! This is not how it ends! Chains will not hold me! I will not die by the hands of men!"

A victorious cry rang up behind her, the Assassins and their allies celebrating the fall of their enemy. A part of her hated that Cesare would live, but he was beaten. He could do not harm in jail, and he had no power. He had no troops. He had no Papacy. He had nothing but himself, and, in truth, Cesare Borgia was a weak man.

And yet, his words struck Catherine. They were nostalgic, in some strange way; as though she heard them before. Perhaps in a nightmare. Or perhaps she'd simply suffered from being under their thumb for so long that she didn't know how to embrace the idea. Surely, she was just being paranoid.

"It is done," Ezio hummed, taking her hand in his. It was hot, from the use of the Apple, and shook a little, but he held firm. His gaze remained on the retreating army and Cesare's thrashing body as their allies congratulated and whooped and cheered behind them. She, like-wise did the same. "Cesare is beaten."

Catherine didn't answer. She only squeezed his hand and told herself it was just her imagination that her husband didn't sound so certain.

 **-O-**

 **April 20, 1504**

 **Roma, Italy**

Catherine swelled with pride as she watched her daughter duck under a blow and retaliated with one of her own, knocking Giovanni off his feet. The young redheaded girl followed up with a "killing" strike to the neck, bringing her blunt practice sword to just before her opponent's neck. She smirked with confidence, assured of her victory, and then pulled back with an outstretched hand. Giovanni Borgia's eyes were wet when he took hold of it, but he quickly wiped away any tears of his shame once he was up. Diana was kind to him, though, hugging him and ruffling his hair playfully while giving him words of encouragement. It was only natural she could best her younger companion, being she had months more of experience, and she took to it a bit faster than he did. Catherine suspected it was her lineage, but she was more-so just delighted she was learning fast and kept a good head on her shoulders. It was always far too easy to become arrogant and cruel to those not as far along as you.

"Don't worry, Giovanni. You're still learning. You'll reach her level soon enough. You're _both_ doing _very_ good, though," the redheaded mother beamed as she came to stand before them. Giovanni sniffed as he nodded, while Diana jumped back and forth on her toes excitedly. "But you both still have a long ways to go. Diana, your footwork needs to improve to help with your balance. You were about to trip more than once there. Giovanni, you need to work on thinking two steps ahead of your opponent. She was able to read your moves while you missed hers. Watch for foot movements, where the eyes go.

She paused when their faces fell and crouched down to lift their chins with her hands, "Don't be upset. You're both learning quickly, but it takes time. _Years_. Your father and I didn't become as good as we are in one night. Your Great Uncle made us work hard for years upon years, and even today we _still_ train to improve and polish our skills. So, take pride in yourselves. You're getting there. Now, back to it. And remember: Giovanni, think two steps ahead. Diana, watch your footwork."

Both children nodded vehemently, and so she stepped back with satisfaction. If they were older, she might have been harsher—she'd been teased already by her older Assassins in training—but they were still young and needed kindness over firmness. Uncle Mario _might_ have said different, but Catherine recalled he had a soft spot for Federico and Giovanni when they were young and wanted to learn. Besides, the positivity would help them later on and she needed them to be stronger for it. Oh, she knew Cesare was sealed away and the main Borgia threat with him, but she could not help the nagging sensation at his words. So, she could only hope that her children and Giovanni would not be caught up in it, although a part of her always knew the battle was never truly over. Even while Cesare rotted in his cell, the war between Templars and Assassins would not end. It simply passed to another generation, evolving as it did so. New Templars. New Assassins. New battles.

As such, Catherine knew all she could do was prepare them as best she could. Mario Jr. would join them soon enough, although he preferred his books and the company of his grandmother or Leonardo, whom had finally been able to visit them freely. They'd even set a room aside for him, although he still preferred his workshop where he continued to create—although not necessarily finish—all kinds of beautiful works with his new apprentice, Salai. He was fond of the boy, which the redhead was glad for, although she disliked him visiting the children. He wasn't the best influence with his "habits", but Leonardo would make time regardless.

"Ah, Diana's grandfather would be delighted to see her doing so well."

The redhead turned slightly to regard the older noblewoman she'd come to know and love and become part of her family. Maria Auditore wore her usual deep, red garbs etched with golden floral designs. Her salt and pepper hair was set back loosely with golden strands, and her eyes looked tired. Her shoulders were sagged, too, and though she smiled, it seemed dulled. There were a few more wrinkles in her features than she remembered, and her cheeks looked a little thinner. Still, she was a lady of pride and strength, and there was love in her eyes when she gazed upon her granddaughter.

"She is strong," the older woman spoke softly.

Catherine smiled as she nodded back, "Yes. She'll be very strong by the time she'd ready to join the Order properly. I hope Mario will be the same, but for now I think he'd prefer to have you read him more stories."

"And I am happy to do so!" Maria laughed lightly. "He is a darling boy—far less devious than his cousins! He reminds me of Petruccio at times, although he is blessed with a healthy constitution. He is a sweet boy. Ah, I wish my dear Giovanni could have lived to see them—and to see how his family has grown. Did I ever thank-you, my dear? For all that you have done?"

The redhead raised a brow, "What do you mean? I've not done anything?"

"Oh, my sweet daughter. You have done so much. You have given this family everything and more. My boy has found true happiness and you gave him a family. You gave my daughter a sister, and my grandsons an aunt. And you have given me another daughter and grandchildren. I could ask for no more, and yet, here you stand, victorious over Cesare Borgia and fighting those of his followers that remain. They nearly killed us once and tried to a second time, but you have brought them to their knees. Perhaps it is petty and certainly unbecoming of me, but justice is quite sweet."

"I… It… I mean," Catherine blushed, a sheepish smile overcoming her, "fighting the Borgia was—er, _is_ simply the right thing to do—for _us_ and everyone. And then you're my family—my mother. By law, but still. You were always kind to me and wanted what was best—even if I never liked your 'proper lady' lessons."

"Ah, yes, you always were quite out of place, but no matter. You have become something better," Maria chuckled, reaching out to squeeze her daughter-in-law's hands.

"Okay, you're buttering me up now. Today isn't something special and I missed it is it?" Catherine snickered, tilting her head slightly. A thought struck her, as she suddenly recalled the date. " _Oh_. Oh, it's almost—when you… I'm sorry."

"Do not apologize. For all the suffering it has brought, it had also given bloom to great love and joy, and although I miss my Giovanni and my boys… I would not trade it for the family I have now. You are all my greatest treasure, never doubt that," Maria replied, reaching up to take her daughter-in-law's cheeks into her hands and then pushed up on her toes briefly to place a kiss on her brow. "If you still feel you must repay me, though, then only promise me this: when the time comes to cut the head of the snake, let not your blade hesitate. Let not your strike waver. Let it be true, and let it be swift."

"I will. I Promise," the redhead spoke softly, watching the woman closely as she stepped away. She could not place why, but her stomach clenched at her expression; at how calm and peaceful it was; how serene. Her mind flashed back to Cesare's bellows as he was taken away in chains.

"Thank-you, my dear. Now, if it is alright with you, might I invite Diana to spend time with Mario and I? If our little Giovanni here wishes, he is more than welcome to join us as well."

"Of course, hang on, I'll get them… they might need baths first, though," Catherine laughed. Maria only nodded in agreement as the redhead called the children to her. They were, of course, delighted, as spending time with the Auditore matriarch meant being able to do as they like and play around as kids normally did. The redhead suspected her daughter would soon be forced into more etiquette lessons, but for now, their grandmother let them be as they were.

Catherine watched them go, and all the while, the feeling in her stomach fought against her wishes to be rid of it. And when Maria smiled tiredly, it became unable to wither.

 **-O-**

 **May 3, 1504**

 **Roma, Italy**

"Ezio," Catherine called, pressing the door to their room open gently and closing it the same. On the bed, her husband didn't stir, his hands pressed to his brow. In the quiet, she heard him sniff, and in the dim light on the setting sun she saw the wet spots on his pants. He was not the only one to have them this day. Her clothes had dried for the moment, but her eyes were puffy and red, as had been Claudia's and both of their children. Countless courtesans had similar faces, though they'd donned their pigmented masks and forced smiles onto their faces for the opening of the _Rosa_. Their Madame, though, had retired for the night, and no one blamed her—just as the Assassins didn't blame The Mentor for retreating to his room once the ceremony was said and done, only to be disturbed by his wife as she sat beside him. She took his hands form his face to squeeze in her own, head resting on his shoulders.

"She… she went peacefully… there is… good in that," he croaked, fresh tears coming in a wave. Her eyes, too, watered again, and she didn't bother to wipe them. "I thought… I thought I would be alright. I thought I could handle it. She was old now—I saw it, but… I wasn't… I want more _time_. I'm not—I wasn't _ready_."

"None of us were," she replied softly as he gave out a chocked sob.

How could they be?

No had expected Maria Auditore to pass away.

She had grown old as her son said, but she had always been so vibrant and indomitable ever since she'd returned form mourning over her husband and children all those years ago. She had become a mother to so many and done so much, that it seemed impossible that her life could have ended so suddenly. Yet, the more Catherine had thought on it, the more signs she saw. The tiredness. The missed meetings. The thin face. It was only on the night she passed, just before she slipped into the endless slumber, that she confessed to any illness. She knew not what it was, only that she'd felt it creeping on her in the last year. It had been slow at first, but she knew her time was coming, and so she had done what she could to let her children and loved ones be at peace, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough, truthfully.

"The world will be less without her, but… she is with Father now. And Federico. And Petruccio. And Uncle Mario. They are waiting for her," Ezio choked out and didn't resist as his wife pulled him into her embrace. He clutched to her tight, sobbing as he hadn't since the day he thought he lost her. Only, this time the loss was real and permanent, and there was no vengeance to be had; no justice to achieve. Death came for all and had no reason. It as simply her time, just as all of theirs would come one day.

"You will see her again, when our day comes. She'll be waiting for you, too," she whispered back, her own voice shaky.

"I know… I know, it just… it hurts. I miss her. I miss Father and my brothers. I wish I could have saved them."

"Me, too… I wish I could have saved so many," she cried herself, burying her head into his head. "But we can't. We can only go forward and keep this world they help build safe. We have to make them proud."

"Yes, yes we will. We _will_ … even if…," he spoke, but cut short. She knew what he spoke of, though.

Cesare.

He had escaped from the _Castel_ , but they had reclaimed him and he now sat in _Valencia_ 's grasp. It gave them no relief, though. Ezio steeled himself a bit more, though tears still ran, "He will never win. I'll make sure of it. I promised Mother."

"And I'll be with you every step of the way. For your mother. For our Brothers and Sisters. For our children," she replied, her mind thinking of the bastard, plotting his next escape. They would be ready, though, and next time, she would slit his throat. But not now. Tomorrow. Tonight was for tears. For sorrow-filled cries. For grief. Tonight, they mourned for their lost Matriarch. She squeezed her husband closer, "Cry as much as you wish, it's alright. It will be."

Ezio let the waves comes until he too tired and exhausted to stay awake, and while Catherine was not long after him, her thoughts and her dreams were haunted by the lingering doubt that Cesare would not stay in chains.

 **-O-**

 **September 24, 1504**

 **Roma, Italy**

Despite her fears, Cesare remained incarcerated even as the months rolled by. The Spanish has been good on their word to contain him, and she was relieved at the continued "alliance" between King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella and the Pope, but such agreements were easy to break. Her only hope was that there was an apparent shared dislike and wariness of Cesare's power—or remnants of it—that kept them keen to secure the man's prison sentence. As it was, he was in chains in a tall tower, with no way to escape. It didn't do as much to ease her worry as she thought it would.

That, however, was in part due to the increased riots in the city of _Roma_. She—and all her comrades—had thought the loyalists would calm down once their leader was taken, but, if anything, they were emboldened. She dared to say Cesare had become a martyr and they rallied to him. It wasn't anything _too_ terrible, and they were able to quell anything that came up, but they'd become bolder in the last month. They were reaching more nobles than she expected as well as other lower-class denizens. She imagined they were being paid, as the city was far better off with the Borgia in control. The general public had more freedom than before and no longer had to fear the guard cutting them down over nothing. It was better.

Except the damned Loyalists.

Catherine sighed as she rubbed her brow, tossing aside a report detailing the latest Borgia incident that had been quelled thanks to her Assassins. They always did good work with most all of them having passed their training. Even now she had only three left to go through the grueling exercises she had before they could be inducted. The rest were full-fledged and spread out among _Roma_ and other cities of _Italia_. She'd sent more to foreign Bureau's, some at the request of her former students. Things appeared to be going well, although she lamented that Spain was not as tightly aligned with the Assassins as was liked. Unfortunately, that was not her matter to delve into, and she only sent help as needed. She just supposed they were lucky to not have to deal with Borgia problems even after their leader was gone.

"More trouble?"

The redhead looked up from her chair to her husband, who spared her a small smile. A tired one. He was just as worried about it all as she was, and he was still carrying the heavy weight of his mother's death. It was always fresh in his mind, and he loved so deep that it was hard for him, but he kept strong. Their children never seemed to notice, anyways, and their students kept quiet if they ever did. The other Master Assassins were respectful, too, but Ezio definitely looked tired.

Their war had been going on too long, she realized. Four years now, and their prey remained alive. Chained, yes, but alive, and capable of causing them agony still.

She should have killed him that day, instead of letting Fabio take him; should have thrown a knife or had Ezio shoot his little gun or _something_.

"Just the usual Loyalists. They're relentless. And… coordinated," she frowned, contemplating all the information.

"'Coordinated'?"

"There's definitely someone behind it—leading it. Not Cesare, but… someone. They know where best to cause trouble and never seem to put anyone who knows anything at risk. They just send lackeys who know nothing out to cause trouble, be it because they just like to cause it or coin."

"That's… not good. And there's nothing on who?"

She threw up her hands, "Nothing. I'm as shocked as you. Even Niccolò hasn't found anything with the Nobles, nor has Claudia and her girls find out _everything_ from them. _La Volpe_ can't seem to find anyone, either. I hate it."

"Ugh. Me, too," her husband groaned, coming over to sit down on the floor next to her chair and lean his head back against her desk. She reached down and he took her hand, squeezing gently. He pushed a smile to his face. "In better news… the kids are doing good. Leonardo is teaching them new painting techniques right now. Giovanni elected to train, though. I think he likes it a lot more than education."

She raised a brow, "And Diana isn't down there with him? I'm surprised."

"Ha! As am I, but she adores Leonardo, and she likes art as much as you did."

"Tsk… I really haven't painting in _years_ , have I? Guess I should add that to my list of hobbies to get back into once it's all over."

"I'm sure you're still wonderful at it," Ezio chuckled, kissing her palm. He grew quiet for a moment, squeezing her fingers. She looked to him, waiting as he mustered his words, "I wonder… if it ever will be over?"

"I… I'm not sure. For us it one day will… but for the future? No, it won't But one day we'll get too old. I feel the ache in my bones some days. But I can't rest knowing Cesare is alive and can escape. But… but maybe… when he is gone… _really_ gone…"

"What are you thinking?"

"Retiring, I guess? I wouldn't mind it. I know we talked before we lost _Monteriggioni_ , and I know we can't just _stop_ , but… after we ensure Cesare can't come back… I think we should think about it more; start making steps towards it."

"…I think that would be alright. Perhaps a villa in the countryside."

She chuckled, "I'm surprise you want one here. I would have thought you'd like closer to _Firenze_ or _Monteriggioni_."

"Well, you don't, right?" he chuckled back, looking up at her.

"I mean… I haven't thought _that_ much on it, but… we built a new life here in _Roma_. You started a whole new Order, and we've just become so much a part of this place… and our children are growing up here. Diana misses our old home, but she has a brother here and Giovanni and all the Assassins and so many friends now. Claudia is here, too, and her boys. Our family is all here. Our friends are here."

"You're right," Ezio hummed. "The countryside here _is_ lovely. Although, I wouldn't mind somewhere to grow a vineyard."

"A _vineyard_? _Really_? Since when were you interested?" she guffawed, earning a laugh.

"Just recently, I think. I do enjoy the wine here, and it'd be something to do with no more Assassin work. I might get bored otherwise."

"Well, I don't know much about working a vineyard, but… I think I could get on board. As long as I get a workshop for art," she snickered.

"Of course. We'll make a grand home, one our children can stay in and come back to when they're grown. A place as good as the _Villa_."

"I'd like that," Catherine replied softly, cupping his cheek so that he could see her proper; see her gentle smile, which he returned.

" _Mentor!_ Help!"

Both Assassins froze, then immediately scrambled to their feet. A large, burly man they recognized as Bruno—one of Machiavelli's—came sprinting through the door, a sweat on his brow as he panted lightly.

"What's going on?" Ezio demanded. Behind him, Assassins that had been lingering around took notice.

"There's going to be an attack on the _Rosa_ —Claudia is in danger! I just now learned the Loyalists plan to kidnap her and take her to one of their safe houses!"

Ezio's face darkened, "Fuck!"

He didn't wait for a response as he shoved past the man and up the stairs. Catherine was hot on his heels, as was Bruno. If any Assassins followed, she didn't know as she and her husband sprinted to the nearby stables, mounted up, and spurred their steeds into a hard gallop. They ignored the surprised cries of folks leaping out of their path; it mattered little in comparison to the danger his sister could be in. She could handle herself, yes, but she was one person. Federico wasn't always there now, spending more time with his brother and Bartolomeo, and while she'd handled herself before, if a crowd swarmed on her she could be taken. Who knew what the Loyalists would do to her, too!

"Ezio!" another voice called, and from the right Machiavelli came riding on a horse of his own. He glanced back and seemed somewhat relieved. "Good, Bruno got to you. We must hurry, though! They are on the move!"

Catherine and her husband urged their horses faster, and yet it did not feel fast enough. Every second was too long and gave too much time for the Loyalists to strike. Yet, they couldn't be late; they couldn't fail; they couldn't lose anyone else. Maria's death was still too fresh, too raw; to lose Claudia or see her harmed would be too much.

Worry became dread as they came into the courtyard, and many of the girls were outside, sobbing. None were hurt, but they pointed to the _Rosa_ 's broken in door. A body was in the doorway and sounds of conflict were heard inside. Ezio reached the portal first with his wife right on his heels. Machiavelli drew his sword as he came in third and Bruno was last, his weapon at the ready. It was for not, though, as only bodies of unknown men lay around them, save for one, who engaged both Claudia Auditore and her youngest son.

"Die, bastard!" Federico bellowed, swinging his blade to disarm the Borgia Loyalist and stick his sword through his gut. He kicked him away with a grunt, although winced as he put a hand to his side, where he'd received a cut. His mother was wounded herself, a bloody stain on her sleeve and near her thigh, where a new cut had been made into her dress. Other sections had been torn as well, but were free of red. Her hair had been tousled, but she was well.

"Claudia! Federico!" Ezio rasped, rushing over to embrace his little sister and then see to his nephew.

"Fuck these fucking Borgia dogs!" the young man snapped, kicking one of the bodies.

Catherine came forward, "What happened?"

"They ambushed this place," Claudia glared, though she was visibly shaken. "They pretended to be customers and then attacked. One of my girls was killed, and another injured—I sent them to the back for safety."

"And thank fucking God I came back. I had a feeling—but— _fuck_!" the young man snarled, stomping forward and back as he sheathed his blade. Catherine could barely believe their good luck. Whatever had made the boy come back, it had saved his mother and the girls. Glancing around, the number of men here was enough to slaughter them all, and they had come at an opportune time. Someone must have known Federico's schedule or at least intimate enough knowledge to be so well planned.

"Stop, you will make your injury worse," the mother fussed, touching gently at the wound.

Niccolò breathed out a sigh of relief as he sheathed his weapon as well, "Thank God you are alright… forgive me, though; I did not learn the information in time."

"It's not your fault, Machiavelli. Thank-you for sending your man to us, and thank-you, 'Rico, for coming back," Ezio sighed as well, clasping his shoulder gently. "You two should rest while—."

One of the bodies groaned, and the group looked about one another. Catherine was closest to the source of the sound and found one of the men with a wound that could prove fatal, but only if he didn't receive attention.

"You," the redhead snapped, taking his collar and placing the tip of a Hidden Blade to his neck. "You have a choice. Tell me who sent you and you might live, or I'll kill you slowly."

The men kept his lips sealed. Catherine narrowed her eyes as she contemplated drawing blood on his neck, but then glanced to his injury. It was in his gut, so picking at it more shouldn't kill him too quick. It was, perhaps, cruel, but they had come for her family. No one got away with that. She took no joy in it, though—not like she once had—but she made a point to be cruel as she stuck her thumb and pressed down—hard. He wailed in pain, no doubt unaccustomed to it. He squirmed, but she kept a leg pinned with her knee and he could only wheeze in agony.

"Talk."

"Fuck!"

She pressed harder, " _Talk_."

"Okay! Okay! Okay! Stop! Stop! _Stop!_ For the love of God!" he wailed, eyes flicking to her, then the others, and then focusing on something behind her for a few moments. There was hesitation in his eyes, but then he met her gaze again.

"Who sent you?" she repeated.

He swallowed hard, "Bruno."

Time slowed. Silence engulfed them as all heads turned to the man. Only, he was no longer standing by the doorway. Instead, he had his sword raised and armed to bring down right upon Claudia. The Madame was too shocked to scream as her arm flew up to prevent the killing blow. It was for naught, though, as a body slammed into her. Steel met flesh, but it was not the cry of a woman, but the painful howl of a young man. Federico fell, a large gash from his hip down to his knee opened. Blood splattered and he could not rise, his body on fire as the blood pooled. Claudia screamed before scrambling to him, tears in her eyes. Bruno moved to strike again but Ezio was there, parrying the sword and kicking him back roughly.

"Bruno, why!?" Machiavelli bellowed, drawing his sword.

The man's face was dark as he snarled, "Because the Borgia pay a hell of a fucking lot better than you damned lot. Things would have gone fucking smoothly if that damned brat hadn't come back when he was supposed to. But, fine. I'll settle with killing you the hard way. Long live the Borgia!"

He said no more. Ezio lunged at him. The first strike was blocked, but, while Bruno was a large man, he was not nearly as skilled, and not nearly as enraged. The Assassin was out for blood, and he would not be denied. His family had been harmed, and he would see the perpetrator die for it. The burly man knew it would happen, too. Catherine could see it in his eyes as he missed a blow and barely dodged another. He stumbled on a step, and that was it. Ezio grabbed hold of his hair and slammed his Hidden Blade into the man's throat. He ripped it free, silencing the brute and ending his life. He slumped down and fell to the floor where his blood joined the others.

"Ezio—he needs a doctor, hurry! He is bleeding badly!" Claudia cried, doing her best to use her ruined dress to stop the flow. Her words broke the trance of battle, and while her husband raced out the door, Catherine and Machiavelli rushed to Federico's aid. The redhead snatched down a curtain and used it in place of the ruined dress, pressing it down hard on the wound. Niccolò, meanwhile, pulled Claudia back to give room, although she protested.

"Give room for the doctor—he will be here. He will help," he told her, though it was hard to tell if she heard. The woman stopped her fighting, though, and instead slumped against him, sobbing. Machiavelli's face fell, his arm moving to her shoulder to comfort her. "I am so sorry, Claudia… this was my fault. I should have known—should have caught on sooner…"

"He was a good spy—not even _Volpe_ knew he was a traitor, and he would have found out before any of us," Catherine spoke up, but it was little relief for anyone. No more was to be said, though, as Ezio returned with the doctor. He visibly paused at the sight—and at the wound—but he still moved forward and crouched beside Federico, who's cries had become whimpers, and his face had grown a little pale. He had lost a great deal of blood, but the doctor seemed to not fear he would die. That, or he dared not say otherwise as he took a good look at the wound. It was red and the blood flowed freely, but the bone was not exposed. Catherine hoped for the best as the doctor worked quickly to clean—he enlisted their help at one point—and stitch it shut as best he could.

When he was at a point where he no longer needed their hands for it, Catherine and Ezio elected to move the other bodies. They were doing nothing to help, and the girls wouldn't want to see it when they finally returned to their home. It was arduous work, and there was plenty of mess left with the stains of blood, but he was at least better than before. Yet, it did little to ease Claudia, whom had finally fallen to the floor. Niccolò rubbed her back gently, but let Ezio take over, whom embraced his sister close. She buried her head into his chest, sobbing freely again.

"God, what have I done?" the nobleman rasped beside Catherine, shaking his head.

The redhead shook hers, too, "It wasn't your fault. Don't do that to yourself. We should have been more careful. We underestimated the Loyalists. We can't take anymore chances. We have to work harder to shut them down… and I hope with this bastard dead we took out at least one."

"Yes… yes let us hope," he replied softly, and a part of her hated knowing her words had done little to assuage his guilt. He would carry it for some time, if not the rest of his life—especially if Federico didn't make it.

 _'No, don't think that. Ever,'_ Catherine mentally slapped herself, although she would have been lying if she said her gut wasn't twisting so tightly watching the Doctor work. Frankly, she was ready to vomit from her worry. The wound was terrible, and if he'd lost too much blood there might be no saving him. They couldn't lose him, though—not again. They'd lost too many. It would be too much!

Catherine held her breath when the Doctor's hand stilled, switching to a pair of scissors to cut the string. He dabbed at Federico's forehead, which had formed a sweat. He sighed softly as he packed his things, though pulled out vial of fluid, which he gently poured into the young man's mouth. He managed to swallow it after a few coughs. He looked to Claudia, who stared with hope and despair vying against one another, and motioned her over. She was beside her son at once, taking him into her arms and lying him on her lap.

"He will live—barely. The wound was deep, and he has lost a great deal of blood, but he will make it so long as he gets rest and drinks these healing draughts daily. You will need to cleanse the wound and watch for infection. I will come tomorrow to check on his condition, but you may seek me out if you believe it has changed," he explained, finishing gathering his things as he did so. "I fear his leg may not be the same again, though only time will tell."

"Thank-you. Thank-you, thank-you," Claudia sobbed, stroking her son's head gently and kissing his brow.

Ezio came forward to clasp the doctor's arm, " _Thank-you_ … and sorry to drag you into this. We are in your debt."

"You have done the city a great service, and such is my duty to help those in pain. May you be well, and God look over your friend here."

He left them, and Claudia's cries filled the resulting silence. Even the outside world seemed quiet, and it was certainly darker than before. A heavy weight sat on their shoulders, and Catherine made a silent oath. Bruno was only the first of the Loyalist leaders to fall. The rest would soon follow, and she wouldn't stop until they were gone. Then, once Cesare faltered—when he made a mistake, she would find him. Even if she had to chase him to the ends of the Earth, she would find him, and she would kill him.

"Hnngh…" Federico groaned, coming to slightly, but only barely.

"Shh… shhh, do not speak, 'Rico. Just rest. You need to rest. It is okay. I am here. You will be alright, I promise. Just do not dare leave me. Not again. You do not have my permission," his mother croaked, brushing his hair and kissing his brow again. He mumbled something incoherent before losing consciousness once more. His breathing was steady, though, and they knew he rested. His mother's tears dribbled onto his face, but he didn't stir, which was a bit of a relief. After a few long moments, she spoke, "I… I wish to step down."

"Claudia?" Ezio inquired, crouching down beside her.

"It… it is too much. I cannot do this without Mother, and to have my son… we need to leave—to go away for a time. Federico is not safe here. I might return—perhaps one day, but… not now."

"…Do you know where you wish to go?" her brother asked softly.

"I… to _Firenze_ , I think. We have allies there, places we can be safe. I just want a place for Federico to be safe and heal. I cannot bear to see him hurt again. I cannot bear it anymore."

"We'll make it so," Ezio murmured, wrapping an arm around her and kissing her cheek. Catherine could see the tears forming in his eyes. It was all just too much for all of them. "It will be so."

 **-O-**

 **November 29, 1506**

 **Roma, Italy**

Another two years passed quickly, and Catherine could barely fathom how. Yet, last year's Fall had turned to Winter, Winter to the next year's Spring, and now it was suddenly Winter of 1506. So much had happened, and it was hard to keep up with it all. She barely understood how she hadn't fallen apart, nor how her husband hadn't. The attack on the _Rosa_ years ago had been almost as great of a blow as the loss of Maria, and the only true loss what that his sister and nephew had moved to _Firenze_ to stay with Paola. She was safe there, and the young man had recovered from his injury well enough. Unfortunately, he now had a limp—one he would have for the rest of his life. He could still fight, but not nearly as good as he once was, and there was a pain in his knee some days. He was alive, though, and being doted on by the girls. He made a good enforcer, even with his wound, and Claudia's mind was able to find some sanctity in her former city. She even had the joy of her eldest boy coming to visit, when he wasn't busy working as Bartolomeo's second-in-command. It would still be some time before they considered returning; perhaps not even until after the last of the Borgia influence was gone.

It was, perhaps, a wise move. The Loyalists had, for the most part, been removed, although pockets remained. Bruno had been one of the main leaders, and with his death the others became easier to find. It helped the movement had lost some momentum with the man's death, although Niccolò had been shaken by the betrayal. Yet, his resolve only became firmer and with his help they rooted out most, if not all the heads of the operation. Certainly, the riots and attacks had ebbed over the course of the year, and Catherine had yet to have a report on one for two months. She suspected their presence was not fully wiped clean, but she imagined it wouldn't—not until Cesare Borgia was dead. That, unfortunately, was made more difficult, as their worst fears had been realized.

Cesare Borgia had escaped.

The blame was placed upon the Spanish nobility. Although Queen Isabella had been taken out by the Assassins two years ago for her collusion with the Borgia, their plans must have already been set into motion, as the man was found missing from his cell not even a year after her demise. The country had a decently safe succession, although by the following years there was trouble within the realm of power. She had not heard much from her Assassins, but she prayed things were alright. Yet, it was all she could do for them, as her focus turned to Cesare, who was now lost to the expanse of Spain. They had not determined _when_ exactly he'd escaped, nor how, or where he had gone. His trail had been lost to them, bringing them great dismay and even more frustration. None of their contacts seemed able to find him, and they were only so lucky that word did not seem to have reached to _Italia_. Cesare had certainly not returned, either.

And so here they were, contemplating their options. Spies had not worked. Alliances with governing powers had failed. Not even the nobles of _Italia_ seemed to know anything, and the courtesans had worked them hard for the worthless knowledge under their old friend Rosa's care. Whatever they tried, none of their resources seemed capable of finding anything. It left Catherine brooding at her table along with her husband. Leonardo had come to visit them today, and he sat across from her, a sympathetic look on his face. She was grateful for it, and a part of her was glad he'd chosen to join them rather than visit her children, whom were busy with their tutor for the next few hours. She only hoped his amazing mind might see what they couldn't.

"Is there truly nothing about Cesare or where he might be?" he asked softly, and the redhead groaned.

" _Nothing_. There's been rumors of possible sightings, but they're all a bust."

Ezio sighed, "Part of the problem is that they're all in _Spain_ , and we have been unable to go there. Or, rather, we simply can't leave on the hopes it's true."

"Was he not imprisoned there, though? It would make sense that he would still be there when he is unwelcome in _Italia_ ," the artist hummed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

She waved a hand, "Yes, it's more than likely, but up and leaving without some certainty is… dangerous. I mean, we've stopped pretty much all the Loyalists, and, sure, the Assassins are doing well even without my guidance, but… we just can't… _go._ Not without being _sure_."

"Not to mention Spain is _massive_. There's so many places he could be."

"So… you have used all avenues open to you?" the artist inquired, and she nodded. "…Have you used the Apple?"

"No—of course not. It's too powerful. I have already used it too much to stop him. It needs to be hidden outside the domain of men," Ezio responded, shaking his head.

"Yet, you still hold onto it."

"Only because we don't know _where_ we can keep it safe besides with Ezio," Catherine sighed, rubbing her face. "It's a miracle he hasn't been hurt by it like I was… and I mean, it's not that we haven't _considered_. Every day I think about what Cesare said—about how chains won't hold him; how he won't die at the hands of men… Worse still, he's proven it true time and time again. I'm actually starting to believe it."

Leonardo regarded them both for a good while, before his expressions grew firm, "Use it. The Apple. And before you protest… you are out of options, you said so yourself. Cesare is eating away at your hearts and minds. I see how tired you all are. You need answers. The Apple will give them. It gave _me_ knowledge once, though I looked for only a moment."

Catherine bit her lip. She didn't like it; not one bit. She already disliked the damned thing, but Leonardo wasn't wrong. It had knowledge. Limitless, possibly. It, when combined with her Clock, had made her essentially a god. Ezio had been neigh invulnerable using it, and when Cesare forced her to use it in her cell she'd seen the future. She hadn't known how much had been true, but now she was certain it was the future. It was a peak into the realm the Clock had brought her to, she was certain; a look into the Nexus. It didn't take you there physically, but even a glimpse was all it took to know enough.

"I'll do it," she spoke at last. Ezio's hand immediately found hers, and he shook his head. She shook hers right back. "I've used it to see the future before. Or, well, I was forced to, but I've never forgotten the feeling. I remember what it was like with my Clock, too."

"No, I should do it; it doesn't hurt me like it does you."

"Together, then," their comrade interjected, and they looked to him with surprise. "I know you both well enough to know neither will surrender. So, both of you should partake of its secret. You both are stronger together, after all. And worry not, I will be here, and pull you free if you go too far."

Catherine doubted he could fight the power of the Pieces of Eden, but she was grateful for his support. He was right, as well. Maybe alone they couldn't handle it, but together, perhaps. They were always stronger that way, just as he said.

"Together," she whispered, squeezing Ezio's hand back. He met her gaze for a long, silent moment, then nodded. He pulled the Apple from his vest, always safely secured and hidden from the world, and set it on the table. She placed her hand against his on the artifact, feeling the cool metal beneath; mentally tracing the grooves where the power flowed. She looked to her husband again. He nodded.

It was time.

Catherine summoned the memory of the Clock, of how she pulled its power out from within. It wasn't as fresh as it once was, being decades now, but the sensation always lingered in a swell of nostalgia. Memories, both awe-inspiring and frightening filled her, but so, too, did fire. It was not quite scalding, but it was hot and threatened to become painful. She knew this burn, though. She could temper it and mold it to her will; urge the Apple to heed her commands.

She only realized her eyes were closed when they opened, and images of light filled her vision. It was like her time with the Clock, yet nothing like at all. The images were blurry and seemingly without shape; just outlines of their former selves. Images and scenes flashed into being and left as quick. It was impossible to determine what it had been, although there was an echo of voices in her mind. It was a raging cacophony of senselessness that threatened to drown her focus and lose her into the chaos. It was only the firm pressure on her hand that brought her back, and her body suddenly became solid. She inhaled air into lungs she only now had, and when she turned her head she found her husband with a similar look of shock. He was not completely solid, his body made of lights, but she could feel him; sense him even. He was not like the flashing images, and neither was she.

But the images were not what they wished to see. It was the past; of their former homes and friends and battles. It threw their victories and defeats at them, along with their sorrow and joy. They ignored it, pushing further; forcing their will upon the Apple. This place was not the real world, but a window to the space between. Time meant nothing. Their will meant everything. The Apple was theirs to command, and they demanded obedience. They had come for answers—for glimpses of the future, and they would have it.

The Piece of Eden complied.

Images of light and a jumbled chorus of voices filled their mind and senses, threatening to overwhelm them. The present flew by them, scouring through the days and months and years to come. Time was endless and infinite and so much and so little of the expanse was given to them. They knew all and knew nothing. Alpha and omega became one, and the secrets of the universe were before them. The path was revealed, and they knew their course.

As quickly as it came, it was done.

Their hands flew back, and the world slammed down upon them. The lights were gone, the Apple was cold again, and Catherine sucked in air greedily. She felt as though she'd just run a marathon, but then feeling began to return to her body and it was as though she'd not taken a step, because she hadn't. They'd not move. They were still there at the table with Leonardo, whom looked to them with both eagerness and confusion.

"We have to leave," Ezio rasped, standing up suddenly and taking the Apple with him.

"What? Wait—what did you see?" Leonardo asked, standing up with him.

Catherine followed suit, "We know where he is—or _will_ be. We leave for Spain. _Now_."

"What of Diana and Mario? And your friends?"

"We'll leave them word of our departure, but we built this brotherhood to last, with or without us," her husband replied, though paused for a moment to look to his wife, "We need to speak to the kids before we go."

The man frowned slightly, but relented, "What do you intend to do?"

"For one, to kill Cesare Borgia," the redhead stated, making for the stairs leading to where their children were.

Ezio continued, "And… to plant a seed. Take what money you need from us before you leave—consider if a gift."

"If this is good-bye, then keep your money. I do not want it," the artist smiled weakly.

"Oh, Leo," Catherine chuckled, retreating to hug him quickly. "This isn't good-bye."

"Don't worry, we'll see each other again, you have my word. Good luck, my oldest friend," the Mentor chuckled, stepping in to embrace the artist after the redhead moved aside. He grinned as he passed by him, "And take the money. On your meager salary, you will need it."

"Well that's one way to say good-bye to your 'oldest friend'," Catherine snickered as she trotted up the steps, Ezio right on her heels.

"You would have done the same," he chuckled back, though the small moment of merriment quelled when they knocked on the door to the children's room and entered. The tutor looked to them expectantly, and, while confused, she obeyed their request to speak to their daughter and son alone. Diana, now a teenager, knew something was going on at once. She was too perceptive for her own good, and even Mario, now six, had an inkling, though he was still too young to fully understand it. They would both understand their coming absence, though, and while it tore at Catherine's heart to have to do it, they had to go.

"Diana, Mario… your father and I are leaving to go on a mission," she started, taking a hand from each them in her own.

"Can we come?" her daughter beamed, bouncing excitedly. Always so eager to prove herself. She'd begged to go on a mission just last week. She was growing too fast.

Ezio shook his head, "Not this time. This is a mission for your mother and I alone. You have to stay here and keep to your training and lessons."

"Why can't we go?" she pouted. Next to her, Mario's face contorted in what was unhappiness for his quiet demeanor.

"This mission is very dangerous and takes us very far away. We must go stop a very, very bad man. It may take us a long time, so we don't know when we'll be back… but your Uncle Giovanni will be here to watch over you, along with Machiavelli and _Volpe_ and Rosa, too. The Assassins will be here to guide you in my stead—Francesco will ensure you train hard."

"I want to go with you, though!"

"Where you go to?" Maria asked softly, eyes falling and lifting to meet theirs.

Ezio smiled sadly as he pulled his boy to him, wrapping him in his arms, "Far away, though not _too_ far… but it will be many, many months before we can return. I do not want to. We would stay here with you always, if we could, but… we must. Your mother and I are the only ones who can."

"No! You can't just go! Take us with you! I can fight!" Diana shouted, grasping hold of her mother's shirt. She'd gotten so tall since coming here. She was fourteen now, and, by all means, she probably could be sent on missions now. She was doing better than Catherine could have ever hoped and was already so strong. No doubt her father had been even more skilled at his age, but this was not their fight. She wanted her daughter to become a young woman in a place she could be safe and find love and live a life without the pain and agony she had suffered, even if it had given her the greatest joy she could imagine and couldn't ask for better.

"You're too brave, Diana," Catherine chuckled softly, kissing her daughter's brow. She cupped her face gently, "You have to stay. You are capable, but this is not your battle to fight. Mario needs you here, anyways. You're his only sister. So, please, don't argue and stay here and keep your brother safe while we're away. I promise, when we come back, I'll take you on a mission, alright?"

The younger redhead looked ready to retort, but in the end, she bit her tongue as her eyes watered some. She wiped the tears away, though, and folded her arms over her chest.

"Okay. But you _have_ to keep your promise. You _have_ to come back and take me on a mission!" she snapped, refusing to budge any more than that. Her mother pulled her close for a hug, which she ultimately returned as hot tears came. "And promise you'll stop that man—Cesare. He's the one you're after. That hurt us. Make him pay, okay?"

Ezio and Catherine looked sharply to one another. They hadn't thought she knew so much, but it seems they'd underestimated their daughter. She was too smart for her own good, and so they strengthened their resolve.

"We will. We promise," Ezio replied, kissing Mario's brow gently.

He looked his father in the eyes, "Good. You keep promises. Come home soon."

"We'll do our best. Now, be good, alright?" Catherine chuckled softly, though her eyes stung and her chest ached. So much demanded she stay despite what she knew she _had_ to do, but she pushed it aside. Going meant keeping her family safe, so she would go. Catching Ezio's eye, she knew he felt the same as he stepped back from their son. The two gazed at the children for a good, long while, the children dabbing at their wet eyes.

"We love you," she beamed.

"So much," her husband added.

"Yeah. Love you, too," Diana chuckled, tugging Mario to her side as he brother waved.

Catherine and Ezio turned, and they didn't stop or dare look back for fear it would break their resolve. They kept their legs moving forward, pausing only to leave a message to their Order and all its allies to let them know what was going on, and to gather at least a week's worth of supplies for the journey. Things set, they mounted on fresh steeds and made for the countryside. There, they paused for one final stop, planting the very seed they spoke of to Leonardo. It was nothing great on their part, but the Apple had shown them much, and with this seed something great would bloom. What and how was not for them to know; only the work they had to do.

And with the task finished, only one remained. With haste, the two Assassins departed, flying across the countryside and far from the home they had built. All the while, they longed for the day they would return, but they wouldn't stop.

Only when Cesare Borgia lay dead, would they come home.

So, until then, they rode on.

 **-O-**

 **March 12, 1507**

 **Viana, Spain**

The sky was red as the Sun set behind the vast, sharp hills of the Viana landscape. In the distance stood a grand castle, it's stone walls painted in gold and orange from sunlight and fire. Smoke rose from its base, billowing into the sky and threatening to blot out the last remnants of the Sun. Dark clouds loomed to the East, and while it was hard to tell if the crack of thunder was from them or the canon fire and creak of battlement wheels, they were sure to bring heavy rains that would turn the desecrated battlefield below until a flood of mud, flesh, and steel. Already there was an endless stream of bodies below, some clad in red of their enemy, and that of the defenders of this realm, but all were splashed with the black stains of blood. Crows and vultures circled, some already perched and pecking at their feast. Their bellies would be full for weeks or even months with the carnage left in the wake of the siege on Viana Castle.

It was here Catherine and Ezio Auditore found themselves. It was here their quarry had brought them. Somewhere, among the throng of warring soldiers, was Cesare Borgia.

They had followed him for nearly half a year, crossing into new lands and traversing endless miles to come to this place. They'd chased leads and dead ends all along the way, and more a few lives had been ended by their hands. They'd made new friends and allies and found old ones as well. The Bureau in Spain had welcomed them and reunited them with familiar faces. But they could not linger long. Cesare Borgia was in Spain, having been spotted in December and so they had to hunt. It had taken them longer than they'd like, but they'd finally learned the man had specifically come to Pamplona, welcomed by their King John II of Navarre. He was needed for his military experience, and so the monarch was all too happy to bring the Borgia into his fold. He'd soon begun to lead a campaign, which had culminated into this moment.

"Do you see him?" Catherine asked as she shifted her horse closer to Ezio's. His gaze was out on the battlefield, trying to make out any golden color in the sea of bright red.

He scowled, "No, not yet. It's too much—too many people. We must get closer."

"I'm with you," she replied, touching his arm. He nodded and spurred his steed onward. It was only one of many they'd run harder than they should in this journey, and she didn't doubt they'd be the last. They were riding straight into war and death, after all. Yet, they did so head-on, without fear. There was no doubt their target was here, and not simply for word of mouth. Rather, they knew with certainty, for they had seen it before—when the Apple showed them so long ago. Here, they would make the last stand against Cesare Borgia.

They only needed to find exactly _where_.

The trail through the hills and mountain side brought them ever closer to the field, where the sound of canons were like thunder in their ear drums, and the screams echoed for miles and remained firmly rooted in their thoughts. Above them, the rocks of the cliff-face burst and shattered, spraying them with sharp shrapnel and soil that left dark smudges. Their horses only faltered a little when the blasts came too close, but they had been trained to endure war, and so they remained steadfast, conquering turns and curves and even leaps over gaps in bridges and never slowing down. At least, not until they came upon the village at the base of the castle.

There, the two Assassins finally dismounted and let their horses flee as far they wanted. There was no need to force the creature to its death, which no doubt would come at the hands of the countless Borgia-Pamplona guards stationed ahead of them. The village had been ransacked, buildings destroyed and toppled and their wooden framed burning. Bodies of innocent children and women and men were strewn about, bodies broken and bent and some with limbs torn asunder. Faces were molded into ones of anguish and terror if they weren't mauled or crushed instead. And if they weren't already dead, there were many dying with screams of terror and sorrow and rage. Prayers to God could not reach the havens in the wake of canon fire, and, surely, in a horrid place such as this, God would not come—not when the Devil had taken roost.

"This way; we need to stick to the outskirts and avoid the soldiers. There's too many for us to take on," Ezio spoke from their crouched position behind a broken wall. Catherine didn't bother to argue, even a fool would have known he was right. The army Cesare commanded was set up outside the castle, preparing to take it, and were rooting out any villagers and enemy soldiers that remained. If they dared to go through them, they'd be attacked at once, and even with all their skills and years of experience, they would perish. So, they slunk their way to the farthest edges of the villages where fewer guards kept post.

Even then sneaking through their ranks was not easy. The guards didn't have any distinct patrol, so timing was difficult, and more than once they had to silence a few to keep from being spotted. They managed to avoid open conflict, though, and pressured further up the hill the castle was set upon. Cesare had not yet been spotted, but they knew they were close. They could feel it in their bones, and this place felt too familiar. The images they'd seen and now resided only in memory were becoming more and more clear. Surely that meant they were nearing the place. Only, it wasn't here, among ruined walls. There had been proper stone and great walls and siege towers. This was not this place.

"We're out of outskirts," Catherine spoke up as they approached the last bit of the village, which then gave way to the castle buildings and stairs. Screams came from the main path, and but a moment later villagers sprinted and tumbled and trampled one another as they ran by. Right on their heels were the enemy soldiers, waving their blades and cutting down those they pleased. Some took villagers alive, though—namely the women. She knew their fate even before they did, and while she hated doing so, Catherine knew she could not stop to save them. Too much was at stake, and they had to cut off the head of the snake if they hoped to truly save the people and countless more.

She glanced above, "We take to the roofs."

"Agreed. He's close," Ezio replied, and pressed on her back to urge her onward.

Ignoring the screams and cries, she as ascended the nearest wall, clambering onto the stone roof. Ezio was right behind her and they sailed from roof to roof, climbing higher and higher as they made their way further up the mountain. Down below, soldiers cut down innocent men and women and children, laughing and taking delight in the slaughter. It made her gut twist and want to vomit when the smell of decay didn't. They pressed on, refusing to pause—at least, not until a crack shattered the sounds of battle. The two Assassins stopped short just as a siege tower that had reached the castle and begun to burn some time ago, finally gave way. The woods and metal groaned as it toppled downward, giving the two of them only seconds to leap out of the way. It wasn't enough to keep them from being thrown from the roof of the building they had been on, the siege tower causing the walls to collapse. Their only respite was that the structure hadn't been very tall and so the ground wasn't far way, but the wind was still knocked from their lungs when they landed.

"'Cat!" her husband rasped as he scrambled to her, helping her up. She groaned, a bit dizzy, but she was on her feet soon enough.

"I'm good. Nothing's broken. You?"

"The same. Come, back up," he ushered, and, though her temple rang a little, she followed. Back up they went, up onto the more pristine and decadent roofs just outside the castle gates—the noble class, without doubt. Only, in the wake of war, that mattered little. Clay tiles still shattered. Stone walls still crumbled. Wood still burned. Catherine only hoped it would stand long enough for them to reach the gates.

By some miracle, it did, and they found themselves not far from the wall, where a siege tower had breached. Above, she could see soldiers warring atop the wall, some falling to their deaths and others being cut down. It was a massacre, though both sides refused to budge. Soldiers were all around, fighting for their lives or for whatever had brought them here under Cesare's command—perhaps coin, even. Whatever the case, the foot men were not their quarry. He was somewhere—elsewhere. But where?

" _Catherine_ ," Ezio gasped, pointing up to the top of the wall. It wasn't much more than a glimpse, but she knew that face anywhere.

Cesare Borgia.

They'd found him.

"How do we get up there?" she asked aloud, searching for good footholds, but they all looked too high up, and the wall was even higher.

He pointed again, to the right, "There. The tower."

"Good idea," she nodded, though even as he made to move, she hesitated. For a split second, but he noticed. Ezio took her hand, squeezing it, and locked his eyes with hers.

"Are you with me?"

He would understand if she said no. The journey had been difficult, and this battle could be their last. If she said no and found shelter and safety, he would understand. He might not survive without her, but he would at least know she would make it back home as they promised. She would return to their children and spread word of Cesare's fall.

Only, that wouldn't happen. Catherine couldn't. She'd taken the plunge with him, and she would never abandon him. If he fell, she would fall with him. They have lived their life together at each other's side, and she wouldn't stop now.

"I'm with you," she replied, squeezing his hand back firmly. His eyes lit, and a smile dared to cross his face, but he held it at bay. Instead, he pulled her to him and kissed her hard and deep, his free hand tangling in her messy hair to cup the back of her head. She like-wise wrapped her arm around him and returned the kiss, silently swearing she would make sure he made it out alive. She knew he had done the same.

No more words passed as they shared one long, final look, and then they made their final ascension. Up the wooden ramparts they flew, and while the doubts dared to try and gnaw at them the higher they went, they fought it back with their certainty. The Apple had shown them this place for a reason, and now the rest was up to them.

Soldiers screamed as they fell off the walls as the two Assassins emerged at the top of the siege tower. Soldiers clad in green fought off red, ignoring the two as they leapt onto the wall and made a straight bee-line to the right—to their target. He was engaged in battle with more green-colored soldiers, but he cut down one of the two, and by the time they reached him, he slew the other.

" _Cesare_!" Ezio bellowed, drawing the man's attention. Fear and shock slapped across his visage. "The walls surround you. There is nowhere to run."

" _How_?!" he snarled, swinging his blade at nothing. "How is it you keep finding me!?"

"Mario Auditore led us here," Catherine snapped back, pulling her sword free. Recognition—and perhaps realization—flickered in his eyes, and his mouth curled into a fierce scowl.

Ezio flexed his Hidden Blade, stepping forward, "It end here, Cesare. No more running. No more hiding."

"Come then, Assassins!" the Borgia spat back, and they came for him. He was more formidable than they realized, though, even against both at once. When one would strike, he parried and met the blade of the other. When they struck together, he managed to duck and dodge away just in time. They, in turn, countered and avoided his blows, though all of them would leave with bruises or scratches from the remnants of what had once been deadly blows. The war around them raged on, but it was paid little mind as they danced with their enemy, back and forth with their assaults.

He sneered at their efforts, "I cannot die! Fortune will not fail me—for I have seen it!"

"Still deluded," Catherine snorted, managing to cut through the cloth of his pants, but only leaving a superficial blow.

" _I_ am the best fighter who ever lived!" he howled, as if offended by her retort. He made a point to swing hard, forcing her to stumble back. Ezio was there to cover for her, though, stealing their enemy's attention. He bellowed again, "Defeat will never taint me! An _Auditore_ will never best _me_!"

"We will see about that," Ezio growled, lunging at the man with his hidden Blade just after a parry that threw his guard. The tip almost reached Cesare's face, but the Borgia grabbed Ezio's arm in time. The two struggled, limbs visibly shaking. His efforts proved fruitful, and the Blade cut into his collar armor that his cape latched into instead, ripping part of it free. He staggered back, his face less confident than before—but only for a moment. He laughed as his caught sight of something beyond them, and when the Assassins turned, they spotted guards in red rushing their way.

"Kill them!" Cesare commanded, pointing as he back tracked to obtain his lost sword.

"Ezio, keep on him! I'll handle the guards!" the redhead shouted, racing forward to meet the men. She didn't wait for his reply as she ducked below the swing of the first and sliced through his gut before kicking him back. Behind her, she heard the mad man continue to rave. Even as his armor was chipped away and his body began to bleed from his wounds, he believed in his delusion. He thought the world was his to take and command, and certainly it had once been. But now he was beaten and broken, and though he fought off her husband as she did his guards, the battle was not in his favor. The false future the Apple gave him was no more, or rather, Catherine doubted it had ever been. He'd only seen glimpses of an illusion that had been part of a greater whole: of his defeat.

 _That_ was the prophecy the Apple had shown _them_ , and they would make it so.

"Die!" the final guard hissed as he swung, seemingly not caring his comrades had fared no better. She caught the sword with her Blade and shove her own weapon through his gut. He grunted in pain and staggered back when she tore it free. The last the goons gone, she turned back to their target.

He had lost more of his armor, but he still fought Ezio with all he had, and with only her husband to focus he attacked with more ferocity. She could see her love struggle more than before, too, although he sported far less wounds than their enemy. Even so, the Borgia bastard blocked Ezio's strike and then kicked him so hard he stumbled back. Cesare chased after him, but he would not find the mark. Before he could strike, Catherine shot forward to meet him. He had not seen her, and so she had the element of surprise as she grabbed hold of his arm, halting his weapon. She, in turn, struck at him with her Hidden Blade. He jerked back just so, and instead of his neck, her steel sunk into the flesh of his shoulder. He yelped, dropping his weapon and rearing back out of her grip. Ezio was right behind her, though, and slammed into Cesare. The Borgia hit the castle wall behind him hard, knocking the breath from his lungs and nearly throwing him down the blown-out section to his left. When he regained his composure the two Assassins stood before him, Hidden Blades drawn. He glanced around quickly, but there was no way he could reach any of his weapons and no more soldiers were around to help he. He was alone, and he was defenseless.

Cesare Borgia was beaten.

"Any last words?" her husband ground out, and even a deaf man would have heard the displeasure he had in saying it.

"No—no, no, _no_! The throne was _mine_!" he bellowed, and it was almost pitiful to see how deluded he was. His confidence had melted away to panic, and he clung to that illusion desperately.

Ezio glared, "Wanting something does not make it your right."

"What do you know?! Either of you!?" he barked back, gaze shooting between both rapidly. There was no way out, and he was starting to realize it.

"A _true_ leader doesn't slaughter his own people. He makes them stronger. Better. _Empowers_ them."

His eyes grew more wild, "No… no, no—I will lead mankind into a new world! I have seen it!"

"May no one remember your name," Ezio spoke, his voice low and dark as he flexed his blade. "Rest in peace."

"You cannot kill me!" he bellowed, stepping forward so suddenly Ezio instinctively hesitated. Catherine almost did but held her ground. This man was nothing to fear after all. He was a weak, pathetic creature, and she had sworn to end him. She would not give way to fear now, even as he raved like a mad dog, frothing at the mouth. "It has been written! I have seen it! You will not slay me here! No _man_ murder me!"

The world slowed some as the redheaded woman came forth. Her gaze was steady and focused. She heard naught but the beat of her heart, and the promises she wore; the oaths she made. Her mind thought of the past and the present and the future to come; of the people the man had killed and taken from her, the people he had slain today, and those he would kill should he be allowed to go on. Their faces and voices rose together in a choir, demanding one thing, and one thing alone.

Cesare, for all his bravado, could not hide the fear as she stood before him and flexed her Hidden Blade.

"I am no man," she told him, and stuck her blade into his stomach.

The Borgia made a strange sound, torn between shock and confusion. It reached his eyes, his brows scrunching together. He touched at his abdomen and when he brought his hand back, painted with wet, sticky red. He tried to speak, but nothing came as he staggered to the left, then back. He did not realize where he stood, and his heel slipped on the broke edge. It cracked under the force, and he fell backwards. With nothing to break it, he screamed and flailed as the ground swallowed him.

The once indomitable Cesare Borgia was no more.

Catherine let out a breath of air she didn't know she'd been holding—and a half-sob, half-laugh, too. Her legs shook and she fell to her knees, shaking. Whether it was relief or exhaustion she didn't know and didn't care. Ezio joined her a moment later, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to pull her close. He was quiet for a moment, before he, too, laughed. She did the same until it became a sob, and she imagined he had tears of his own, too.

It was over. Finally _over_. After seven long, agonizing years, it was done. After losing so many to the Borgia and suffering so much, their torment was ended.

It didn't seem real. How could it be? Yet, it was. Cesare had fallen over the ramparts, and even if the fall had not killed him, the wound would. He was dead and would not be coming back.

"We did it," she laughed, pressing her hand to her face.

Ezio chuckled, pushing his head against hers, "Yes… yes we did."

"Oh my God…" she rasped, forcing herself to understand it was real. She wiped at her tears to look at him, "Are you okay?"

"…Yeah, I am. Bruised and cut, but I'm alright. You?"

"Yeah. Same for me," she replied, nodding. They went quiet for a while, and the sounds of the battle filled the silence. It was not so chaotic as before, but it would still not ebb for some time, and that meant they couldn't stay. "We need to get out of here."

Ezio chuckled as he stood, holding out his hand, "Yes, we do. We have a promise to keep."

"And Auditore's keep their promises," the redhead smiled as she too his hand so he could help her up. He brushed her cheek gently, sharing a long, long look, and then motioned for her to follow. It was better if they left as soon as possible. They could do no more here.

That, and they had a lot of ground to cover to make good on that promise.

* * *

 **31** – _End_

* * *

 **TMWolf:** _And there we have it. Only the epilogue remains._

 _So._

 _A LOT happened. A lot. A lot-lot. Literally was running through so much the game didn't put like Claudia quitting and getting attacked by Bruno, Maria dying of sickness, and more. They don't even go over how Cesare got to the battleground, which involved going to like Milan and so much more. Had to wing some since I killed Micheletto (who helped Cesare out a lot until his Master killed him), but it all worked out in the end._

 _And, yes, I kinda "borrowed" the LOTR moment. I didn't know how else to word the line that wasn't epic like that forgive meeeeee. I just stole the line okay xD Just that, nothing else!_

 _I wasn't sure about having Catherine deal the final blow, truth be told. I was conflicted, but... ultimately, I decided it was right. It fit good to "loop" around his words and she's suffered a lot because of him. I thought it was fitting. But, seriously, the line Eowyn says is so perfect. Even "I"m not a man" doesn't compare, dammit._

 _And, yeah. So there we have it._

 _One chapter to go and it's not long. This is the end of the Catherine and Ezio saga._


	32. The Sunlit Earth

**TMWolf:** _Enjoy_

* * *

 **32** – _Epilogue_

 _The Sunlit Earth_

* * *

 **April 5, 1507**

 **Monterigionni, Italy**

The rain finally ebbed as they approached the city on horseback, gray clouds slowly, but surely tapering off. The ground was muddy and slick, but they managed to remain upright as they dismounted and led their horses through the wet, cobbled stones of the city gate. The once indominable metal barricade was broken, pieces blown apart in a battle from so long ago. Rubble and charred spots littered the streets, and the black remains of homes could be seen with but a glance. A few structures did remain intact, but like much of the outlying farmland, the city was, for lack of better word, abandoned. Oh, a few people remained here and there and some repairs were underway, but the city was nothing like what it had once been. Yet, only seven years ago it had been flush with life and countless folk making a good life for themselves, and had served as the start of an Order that had become something far greater than anyone could have imagined.

Except perhaps Mario Auditore. At least, that was what Catherine was sure of as she paused in the streets of her former home, taking in the destruction. She could recall every single house and building before it all had come crumbling down, and it made her heart ache. The blacksmith was completely gone; the Doctor's office was half blown apart, and the tailor shop was barely standing. If she looked long enough, she swore she saw the pale white of bone amidst the rubble, but she would look away by then. She could barely stand seeing the buildings destroyed, but to know that people had _died_ in them? That they hadn't escaped? Oh, she knew many had died in the battle, but it was just too cruel to think they could have died in the place they loved most.

 _Monteriggioni_ was a ruin now, and she wondered if it might ever become like it once was again. A part of her didn't want it to; she would rather it remain this way; to remain a dead thing in her memory, but that would have been wrong. Mario had always said the city would be conquered and sieged time and time again, and yet it would rise from the ashes stronger than ever. No doubt someone would come here and see the strength of its walls despite the damage; they would see what it could be and rebuild it. Someone would bring new families and soldiers and hard-working men, and they would make it into something grand and wonderful. They would make it a home.

But not her. Not her husband or family—not anymore. _Monteriggioni_ could never be her home again, and, in some ways, that was alright. They'd made a new life in _Roma_ , and that was where they belonged. This place was just a memory now, and it would stay that way. Still, she knew she was right to have come here on their way back from Spain. They hadn't returned during all their time in _Roma_ , be it they were too busy or she just hadn't mustered the courage, but it felt right to come here now. The battle had begun here, it was only right now that it was over.

"I hated this place when I first came here, you know," Ezio chuckled as they walked, stepping over stone and wood on their way towards the fountain at the bottom of the _Villa_ 's stairs. Catherine raised a brow at him, and he laughed. "I was angry with what had happened and so hurt. When Mario pushed me to stay, I hated him for it even if he was right. I went along with it, though, to protect Mother and Claudia, but I hated being here. This wasn't home. These were streets I didn't know; people I didn't care for—except _you_ , of course. You always made it easier to be here, and, well, obviously you helped me stay."

"I always told you this place could be home for you—that it was a good place. Just look; even after the siege the walls are still standing," she chuckled, but the luster in it was dulled.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, "I miss it, too. I miss all of them. It hurts to see what became of our home. We failed to protect it. I made mistakes and brought this upon us."

"Only, Cesare would have come for us even if you killed Rodrigo. He wanted the Apple more than anything, and the Spaniard didn't want to attack us," the redhead mused, glancing to one of the buildings, then looking away quickly when she saw a charred skull. Her heart grew heavier, but still she moved onward. The fountain they'd come to adore for the Assassin sigil had managed to hold up during the siege, although water no longer flowed from the spout, and the pool had grown stagnant. The walls carried overgrowth in places where the stone remained unscathed. The railings above on the upper level were damaged in some spots, and the stairs had cracked with chips missing, but were in tact otherwise.

"I used to not believe that, but… I think you're right. Let's leave the horses here," he replied, taking her reigns and looping them on a pedestal on the stairway. He held out his hand to her, "Shall we?"

"I want to say no, but… yes, let's," she half-smiled, entwining her fingers with his, and made their way up the stairs. The training ring was a mess, the dirt unkempt and green growing in any place it could. Amazingly, the marble rails were untouched by the battle, and she couldn't help recalling the countless years spent gaining bruises and welts. Like Ezio, she'd hated it once, and wanted to quit so many times, but Mario wouldn't let her. He'd pushed her to always be better, promising she would come to greatness if she did. While some part of her had never believed it, another did, and now she knew for certain he had been right.

God, she missed him. He'd been like a father to her for so long, and he'd been gone for seven years now. It felt only like a moment ago he was embracing her warmly and looking upon her with such pride. If only they'd had more time—if only he could had lived.

But he was gone, and so were many others. They lived on, though, in their memories, and so long as they didn't forget they would never truly die.

"Damn. I almost forgot they destroyed our room. I liked that bed," Ezio chuckled, looking up at the _Villa_ as they entered the courtyard.

"I wonder if your old armor is up there?"

He raised a brow, "What? Don't like the one I found in _Roma_?"

"Oh, no, the red looks good and I like the fur, but that armor was special."

"It was definitely something else. I suppose we can go look," he grinned, and left her side to begin to scale the walls. Despite enduring the siege, the building remained strong and sturdy all the way up. Catherine followed him, of course, and stepped gently through the opened hole to the room. Everything inside was essentially ruined, having been exposed to the elements. Carpet, rugs, paintings, books, and more were all ruined and molding in some places. Metal was rusting, and in some spots dust had caked on. Wood was rotting and creaking, and she couldn't imagine how it was still standing. She suspected it might fully collapse one day, but for now it would support them.

Ezio grunted, "Damn… it's ruined."

"Really?" she sighed as she came beside him, and, sure enough, the armor he'd inherited from Altair was in shambles, destroyed no doubt by the cannonball that made the hole in their room. "Well, it served you well. I suppose it was its time."

"Yes, it seems such things apply even for armor… ah," he replied, though paused as something caught his eye. His wife raised a brow as he crouched down and brushed away small pieces of wood and ruined cloth. From the floor he picked up a familiar necklace—one made of leather twine and four, rectangular pieces.

Catherine gasped, "My necklace!"

"I can't believe it survived. It looks like the leather is alright, too," he laughed, holding it up for her. "Shall I return it to it's rightful place? It doesn't feel wet."

"Of course. I've missed it," she smiled, and happily bent her head forward some so he could place it over and let it lie against her collar. A light glimmered in his eyes.

"It still suits you perfectly."

"Well, it was from you. Claiming me. But I still liked it," he teased, nudged his stomach playfully. He growled softly, taking hold of her hips to bring her to him.

" _Good_ , because I _loved_ it," he purred, kissing her cheeks and then lips playfully, causing her to giggle.

"Now, now; save it for when we get back to _Roma_. Besides, we did come here for an important reason."

"Don't worry, I know. I just miss the life we had here is all," he chuckled, kissing her brow, and heading back out through the hole. There was nothing more for them there, so they ventured towards the back of the _Villa_ where the only entrance remained. They slipped through and avoided fallen sections of the upper banister into Mario's old study. It had managed to survive too much damage, with the bookshelf almost completely spared. Catherine ran her hand along a few of the book spines, recalling the countless hours they spent scouring the pages for information—anything that would tell them more about the Assassins, her Clock, and the other Pieces of Eden. She had learned so much from them, and she hated to see them abandoned.

"Do you think we can bring some back with us? It'd be a shame to leave it all…"

He hummed thoughtfully, "We have room in our packs, so we can bring some, but not all… we'll need to pick and choose."

"Want me to do that while you leave the 'sign'?" she asked, and he nodded. She left him to move to the opened way to the sanctuary below the _Villa_ while she inspected the books, searching for ones that would prove most useful. While some pertained solely to Assassins, others were more about history and the world, which she was able to leave out from the list. They could be replaced with new sources while the ancient texts of their Order could not, so she prioritized those. She made a point to grab the make-shift booklets of notes made by various Assassins over the years, Mario and Giovanni Sr. included. They had helped pave her and Ezio's way on their journey to fully understanding what it meant to be an Assassin, although that was theirs to walk and make their own.

She pulled a pair of books free, next, and from it fell a thin, hidden booklet—just a few pages thick. She raised a brow, not recalling ever seeing those parchments. She recognized the symbol on the front as that of the Auditore, and it had been folded and sealed shut with twine. Glimpsing between the sheets, she was fairly certain the handwriting was similar to her father-in-law's, and wondered if this was one they had missed even after all their years. She couldn't help the small laugh that escaped her. To think, after all these years, it seemed they still had much to learn about their lineage—still so many secrets to uncover.

"What is it?" Ezio inquired, emerging from the Sanctuary and sealing the door once again.

She held up the booklet, "Here. I found something we missed. I think it's from your father."

" _Really_? How? We've read everything in here _at least_ twice," he guffawed, taking the parchment gently.

"Evidently we decided the Bible and proper etiquette books were too boring to read. I mean, I doubt they'd help us learn anything about the Assassins," she snickered.

He chuckled, glimpsing through the pages, "Yes, I supposed we _would_ think that… Ah… My God… It really is his…"

"What do you think is in it?"

"Hmm… I'm not sure. I thought we knew everything he did truth be told," Ezio mused before handing it back to her. "Mind keeping it safe until we get back to _Roma_?"

"Of course. And I think we have most of the important books now. I'm running out of space, too," the redhead hummed, glancing at the shelves for any more tombs that would be useful or hidden booklets. She glanced back to grin at her husband, "Is it bad I wouldn't mind finally making good on that adventuring we thought about the night before we were attacked? Don't suppose Giovanni knew about any Pieces of Eden?"

He laughed, "Well, he knew _something_. I wouldn't be surprised if there's something about another Vault or Sanctuary or some secret library teeming with ancient knowledge, which, naturally, would send us off on a new adventure at some point."

"As long as we don't have to take on anymore Cesare's," the redhead snickered before turning back to the bookshelf.

She searched a little longer—this time with help—but in the end they left with what they already had. They could come back for more if they truly wanted to, but they'd stayed long enough. In truth, the real reason they'd come was now etched into a wall behind the Sanctuary entrance, and so there was nothing more to do.

So, they left the way they'd come, circling around the back of the _Villa_ , and descended the stair to where their mounts waited patiently. Securing the pouch of texts to the saddle, they took up the reigns once more and headed back down the rubble-filled path. Catherine kept her eyes forward this time, deciding to spare herself the twist in her gut. It was still quite a journey to _Roma_ , and she'd rather let her mind think of what was waiting for them.

"We need to stop by _Firenze_ ," Ezio spoke up, stealing her from her thoughts. He glanced at her before continuing, "We need to let Claudia and Federico know the good news, and finally visit them. And… I admit… I hope they'll come back with us. She said she missed being there with us all in her last letter, anyways."

"She might, now that the danger is over. It would be nice to have her back. Giovanni would be very happy," the redhead hummed. "But you're right—we need to tell her it's done. I can't wait to tell everyone else, too."

"I imagine there will be quite the celebration."

She snorted, "I don't know about _you_ , but _I_ am going _sleep_. After hugging Diana and Mario until they never want me to hug them again, of course."

"Oh, don't worry, I'll be right there with you. I don't want to move for a whole day if I can help."

"That sounds perfect," she laughed lightly as she looked towards the sky. The clouds were thinning, and sunlight was trying it's hardest to peek through. She returned her eyes to the ground, and meant to focus on the gate ahead, but had to double back as a glimmer of metal caught her eye. The light hadn't been strong, but it stood out amongst the rubble. She topped right in her tracks, chest constricting as she dropped her reigns and dismounted. She ignored Ezio's call as she walked over slowly, not sure it was real. Yet, when she crouched down and touched the steel, it was very much so.

Gingerly, she picked up the handle and caressed the blade, which had become chipped and rusted on the edges and covered in soot and dust. Despite its suffering, it still held together strong—like it's owner.

"What did you find?" Ezio inquired, coming up behind her. She stood up to show him the blade in her hands, and he visibly paused. "Is it…?"

She nodded, fresh tears coming to her eyes, "Yeah. It's Mario's—your Uncle's sword. He dropped it when he… I… I can't believe it's still here."

"I'll find something to wrap it with," her husband offered, but while she stepped towards him at first, she stopped. Her gaze fell to the steel, her reflection muddled in the dirt-stained metal. The blade was a piece of her former Commander—of the man she considered a father. Ezio's Uncle. Her children's Great Uncle. By all means, it was their right to keep it. It was a family heirloom at this point. Yet, she hesitated. This place was Mario's home. He had lived here all his life and he had died here defending it. This sword had been with him all the way to the end and even beyond. Though his body was gone, his soul remained here, in the city he helped build. To take the sword away from it felt wrong.

"Catherine?"

The redhead didn't reply as she walked towards a small, circular garden in the middle of a courtyard between buildings. It was nothing much. Only a bit of grass grew, but in the center was a small tree growth. How a seed had managed to take root and sprout was beyond her, but it was a sign—one of hope. Life still lived in this place, despite everything it had endured. And it was there she pressed the sword down deep into the earth, ensuring it would stand upright for a long time to come. That, she was certain of. It was Mario's sword, after all. It was bound to be as stubborn as he was.

A smile creeping onto her face, she finally turned back to her husband, "Time to head out. Claudia's waiting for us, right?"

"…Yes, she is," Ezio smiled gently, holding out her horse's reigns. She took them and together they passed through the gates. High above them, the clouds parted, and sunlight beamed down to the city where golden rays settled upon the chipped, rusty silver of steel. It shone bright and true, though the two Assassins would never look back to see it. Their gaze was on the road ahead, where loved ones waited to be met in _Firenze_ and further still to _Roma_. There was still a long ways to go, but they did so with a smile on their face and a peacefulness in their hearts.

And all the while, the sunlit Earth shone brighter.

 **-O-**

 **April 10, 1507**

 **Rome, Italy**

Diana sighed as she sat at her mother's desk, flipping through her reports and documents. They'd all been left in a neat stack, anything out of place was most likely not hers. Francesco probably had made them or received them, being he was handling most affairs for the Order in her parents' absence. He'd done a pretty good job, or at least, she was pretty sure he had. She wasn't allowed into it much despite being the Mentor's _daughter_ , but she forced herself to remember she was still a novice. She hadn't earned her place among the masters, although she was already fifteen now and plenty grown. Hell, she could even court now if she wanted—not that any of the boys around here were worth her time. They couldn't even best in her a fist fight! How could they expect to impress her if they went crying as soon as she clocked them in the nose? Only Giovanni, her "brother", was really any match, but they just couldn't see each other that way. That, and he fancied another girl.

"Ugh, I hate down days. Leo is gone, too, so I can't even take art lessons," she huffed, slumping back into the desk chair before pushing up and making for the library. Her younger brother always found his way there, burying his nose in the books. He liked them more than she expected—even more than training. She was starting to worry he wouldn't become more than a novice at the rate he was going, which wouldn't do. He was an Auditore! They were fighters! Mother and Father might be alright with it, but she wouldn't let any little brother of hers not know how to fight proper!

She set her hands haughtily on her hips as she barked, "Mario! I know you're in here!"

"Over here," he replied plainly, and she spun to her left to go around another corner where he'd set up a place to read and write notes peacefully. "Hey, Diana."

"Hey, little bro. What're you reading today?"

"About poisons."

She scrunched her nose, "Why that?"

"Papa and Mama and the others use them sometimes. There's lots of them. I like to learn about 'em. They can heal, too," he replied, eyes never leaving the text.

"How can something bad for you heal you?" she frowned, lounging in a chair next to him.

He shrugged, "Has to do with the amount, I think. Still learning."

"I don't see how you like to read so much. Don't you want to learn to fight like Mother and Father?"

"Mmm… Not sure. It's hard," he replied softly, and the redhead teenager winced some. While she disliked he shied from fighting, she'd forgotten he felt bad about it himself. They both knew how proud their parents were to have them become strong, although their mother and father were always proud no matter what.

"It's okay. Aunt Claudia is an Assassin, too, but doesn't do what Mama and Papa do. So is cousin Gio and _Volpe_. I think Uncle Machiavelli is, too. So, it's okay," she replied quickly with a shrug. Mario hummed, glancing up at her finally, then back to his book. It went quiet for a bit—which she wasn't a fan of, but her brother wasn't one to talk much—but then he set his book down.

"When are Mama and Papa coming back?"

Diana's gaze fell and away, "Soon. I think. They promised to come back when they took care of that bad Cesare Borgia guy. It shouldn't be much longer."

"I miss them."

"Me, too, baby brother. Me, too… but they'll be back, so we have to make sure to grow up a lot for when they do."

"I know, I just…"

"I know, I know. Keep reading then. You'll impress them with your smarts and me my fists," she smirked, punching lightly at the air. A shy smile came over the young boy's face, making her own grin go wider. "Anyways, find me a book to read so I can join you, alright? It's still a while before dinner."

"Here, you'll like this one," he beamed, pushing a thin book her way. It was about techniques used to assassinate targets. Diana couldn't help laughing, wondering if her brother was being funny, sincere, or both. He was clever, though, and she loved him for it. She _did_ enjoy the book, though, letting herself become entranced in its instructions and pictures. She couldn't wait for the day that she got to try them. For now, though, she would train and read and grow.

Beyond the walls she could hear the entryway door open, followed by the echo of boots on stone. The latest training session must have been over, or someone was dropping off a report. Either way, Diana let it be, content to spend precious time with her brother. Some of the echoes came close, but she didn't mind them; everyone used the library at some point, and they would let them be.

"Diana, Mario."

Both her and her brother's face shot up, staring at one another with wide eyes. Hearts raced and they turned their heads slowly.

There, standing at the entrance to their little hovel were Catherine and Ezio.

There was no stopping the rush of tears as they discarded their books and threw themselves at their parents, whom happily wrapped both their arms around them. They looked older and tired, but they were alive and real and they were _back_. The brother and sister sobbed loudly as they were held close, and Catherine never wanted to let them go. It felt like a dream to have them in her arms again, but here they were. They'd both grown so much, and she couldn't wait to hear what they had done in their absence.

"You're back! You're _back_!" Diana cried.

Ezio chuckled as he kissed her brow, "Yes, we're back, my sweet girl. And we're not going anywhere."

"You're staying this time? For good?" Mario hiccupped, wiping his eyes. Catherine smiled as she stroked his head and Diana's cheek. Her heart swelled at the sight of them. It had been far too long.

"Yes, for good," she replied, and the two children wrapped their arms tight around her and Ezio, burying their faces into their chests. The two parents laughed lightly, rubbing their children's' backs gently, and looked to one another. Her smile softened, "We're home."

He sighed contently, "Yes. At last… we are home."

* * *

 _The End_

* * *

 **TMWolf:** _Whelp. That's it. It's over._

 _This is the end of Catherine's story with Ezio. I won't be writing any more for it, although I do have a fun AU in my head and one shots, but... I have other things I want to work on, so this is where it will stop. It was something I'd wanted to write because it was such an important part of both their lives. They went through quite the trial in Brotherhood, and their lives are better for it. Revelations won't differ too much from the game for Catherine or Ezio, although Yusuf will live, saved by her children. But otherwise, the epilogue in Chronos shows all that needs to happen for that game. So, this is the very last chapter for Catherine in Assassin's Creed :)_

 _Thank-you all you have stuck with me all this time for reading. It's meant so much and I couldn't ask for better readers. Your reviews always give me that gooey feeling inside and I loved hearing how much you enjoyed Catherine and endured the journey with her. It does my heart good._

 _And I want to give a shout out to FARK2005 for giving me all the details about Machiavelli. Without them I wouldn't have figured out he had a wife and lots of kids (many did not live long, sadly, although that's not uncommon for that time). It was a huge help, even though I don't put too much about him in there. But it was fun to learn and add the details when I could. So thank-you again for that information you gave me!_

 _So._

 _I guess when or if you all come to read the story again, both this one and Chronos, I hope you will enjoy it as much as you did the first time. If you have any questions about Catherine and her family's fate or wonder about things I don't touch on or leave their fate unknown just ask! I'll be happy to give you an answer. Otherwise, I have no intentions of a new fanfic, but rather wish to work on original stories. I have one in the making that's fantasy, so we'll see how it goes! I hope to publish on Wattpad before for real one day, so keeping fingers crossed 'cause I know how hard it can be to get published. So just keep on a look at there (under same name TMWolf) for anything new._

 _Once again, thank-you all. It's been a pleasure and honor._


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